


i wanna wake up with you all in tangles

by Cleverbreawisekylan



Category: American Horror Story: Coven
Genre: F/F, High School AU, I ain't heartless, No Magic AU, Slow Burn, kinda angsty, kinda sad, mention of slurs, misty learning to accept who she is, religious!misty, some bits of fluff, will add other characters as they appear
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-18 07:20:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 23,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29364633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cleverbreawisekylan/pseuds/Cleverbreawisekylan
Summary: Cordelia doesn't know how she's supposed to love someone who can't love themself.
Relationships: Misty Day/Cordelia Foxx | Cordelia Goode
Comments: 14
Kudos: 66





	1. 'cause being with you touches me

**Author's Note:**

> So a new multific seeing as I'm having such a slump with my other one (honestly, I'm trying so much to update it!) but my muse is wild with this one. Please enjoy and let me know what you think!

“Are you sure about this, Misty?” 

Her fingers are glued to the steering wheel, squeezing and pinching to keep her body here in reality and not swept away with her thoughts. Or worries, for that matter. Beside her, Misty is scrambling through her backpack with furrowed eyebrows, producing a carton of eggs as a smirk steadily makes its way onto her lips. When she spies Cordelia’s expression, she falters. 

Well, for all of a few seconds before her resolve returns with a swift whoosh of intensity. “One hundred percent. He’s an ass.” 

Cordelia wholeheartedly agrees. But her stomach twists and pulls with a lack of nerve, and she wishes that Misty could share some of hers. Even the tiniest transfer of courage would be appreciated, because she sits frozen with fear and trepidation tugging her shoulders further and further down. 

Now with a bag of flour in her left hand, Misty settles a look on her, hard and yet soft at the same time. “Don’t you wanna do this?” 

She does. She really _does_. 

Her heart still stings with betrayal, throbbing every so often just to remind her that she isn’t wanted, something Hank oh so plainly believes. Or they wouldn’t be parked here outside his house, plotting a wicked idea that makes her insides gurgle with dread. Not for Hank. Fuck Hank. But the prospect of getting caught lingers around the edges of her mind, not prominent, but there. Enough to give her pause. 

Then she’s looking to Misty, feeling the anger radiating off of her friend. Should she be fizzing so violently with anger too? Because right now she’s sure she reeks of fear, embarrassingly so, and she fears the eyes of judgement. 

Misty’s pointed expression relents, pretty features melting to one of compromise. “We can go home, Delia.” She shrugs, never letting her eyes falter. There’s care in her blue orbs, that stretches out and wraps Cordelia in a shroud of comfort, so much so that her fingers begin to ease their grip on the wheel, one by one. 

She shakes her head. “I don’t wanna go back.” 

The Cajun grins widely. 

“And we did drive all this way . . .” 

Said smile spreads so wide that she’s sure Misty’s cheeks must be aching with exertion. Suddenly another carton is thrust into her hands with such force that she fumbles and almost drops them. _How many things did she buy?_ Misty is hastily exiting the vehicle under the cover of dark, throwing her hood up as far as it will go. 

Cordelia follows suit, feeling lost in the baggy hoodie that Misty has lent to her, but the smell of her friends lingers in the material. Another comfort, enough to bolster her courage. She quietly closes the door and creeps down the street with knees knocking nervously together. 

“You sure this is his house?” Misty is close, dizzyingly close, with hair strewn out of her hood in every direction as it fails to keep it under control. They come to crouch just outside one of the large residences, a sickly wash of familiarity flooding over her like the tide. 

She nods. “Yeah.” Then she points BMW sat unsuspecting on the driveway. “And that’s his car.” 

That’s all that Misty needs to know before she’s rushing over there in long strides, and Cordelia follows like an obedient puppy. Her nervous eyes dart back and forth to ensure that there are no witnesses, so lost in hiding their actions that she doesn’t notice when Misty comes to a halt and slams straight into her back. Strong fingers steady her, then move up to her shoulders. “You okay?” She asks sweetly, voice low and concerned. 

She peers up to Misty, feeling her fingers clutch around the egg carton as though It's her last lifeline. Nestled under her crossed arms, she hopes that she hasn’t cracked any yet, but realizes it’s the least of her concerns. She’s not here to be a wimp, she’s here to show Hank exactly what happens when he cheats on Cordelia Goode. 

“I’m great,” she says through tight teeth. 

The rage that she’s been supressing the past day begins to bubble up, ever so slowly, but this time she makes no effort to stop it. She embraces it, encourages its ascent until her chest burns with rage and aches of its own volition. 

She feels an egg placed in her fingers, Misty’s black nail polish blending in with the dark night. “After you,” she smiles, teeth flashing out between pink lips that quickly pucker in a way that leaves Cordelia staring. 

With a visibly gulp, she closes the gap between her and Hank’s car. One final glance around, just to satiate her own paranoia, and then she throws the egg. It falls against the windshield in a satisfying _splat_ , trailing down in a gooey mess that has maybe more strength and control than her own shaky feelings. Bewitched by the scene before her, she sucks in a breath. Then, she smiles. 

It only grows tenfold as another egg trapezes past her, hitting the roof instead. Shell and yolk splatter in a pretty display of something pretty akin to justice. She turns, whiskey eyes catching cerulean, before both friends each turn to the task at hand. Eggs begin flying in a non-stop assault and bringing a symphony of bangs that free the weight from her shoulders. She experiences a freeing wash of exhilaration, of euphoria – of pure fucking glee. 

One by one the eggs meet their destination, and then Misty is tearing open a bag of flour so hurriedly that she does it with her teeth. Ignoring the drops that drift onto her clothes, she throws the entire thing over the car, shaking the paper bag with more determination than Cordelia has ever witnessed. She laughs as she does so, and then Cordelia is laughing too, drunk with giddiness. She doesn’t care that their cackling might alert to the treacherous task they’re pulling off; all she can think about is that she’s with her best friend, and this is the most fun she’s had in _months_. 

“Well, that felt damn good.” Misty steps back, haphazardly brushing the rogue flour from her hands. It only succeeds in spreading to her clothes. 

Cordelia beams, jumpy with adrenaline, and admires their work with the uttermost pride. With a sudden spontaneity that she’s unfamiliar with, she’s shakily reaching over the bonnet. 

“What’re you doin’?” 

She turns, eyes glistening and a smirk planted firmly on her lips. “You’ll see.” Her index finger connects with the screen, dragging over the congealed mess of eggs and flour as she writes her message against the cold glass. Misty lingers near, observing with interest. Suddenly, eyes widen and Cordelia catches sight of alertness in those pupils. 

The Cajun stiffens. “Fuck, someone’s comin’.” 

Without warning, she yanks hold of Cordelia’s arm and tugs her alongside in a mad sprint back to the car. As Cordelia dares a glance back, she sees lights flooding on in the house, and registers someone hollering over the sound of her own blood pulsing like a steady drum in her ears. 

They scramble into the car together. She can’t get the key in fast enough, tyres screeching as the vehicle surges into action and away from the scene of the crime. As they’re speeding away, she grins happily at the sight of _Fuck you_ written across Hank’s windshield. 

… 

“You were right.” 

Misty cocks an eyebrow, head tilting over the cushion of blonde hair she’s currently sat on. The moon highlights her features in a mix of lines and shadows, but her eyes remain as bright as ever, dilated and as blue as the most tempting of oceans. “Huh?” 

She grins, almost shyly. “That was really fun.” 

This seems to breathe another lease of life into Misty, who bustles with pride and laughs softly. It floats out against the night air with wisps of her white breath. Cordelia watches, besotted. It’s nice out here with Misty, just the two of them. Don’t get her wrong, she loves all of her other friends at High School, but there’s something about the Cajun’s presence that she feels allows her to just be herself. No games, so acting, just her and Misty. 

Then, the mood is dampened slightly. 

“I don’t know why you dated that dick.” 

She pauses, thoughtful. And maybe a little annoyed. Okay, maybe him cheating on her is something that she should have seen coming, but blissful ignorance definitely played a part in their relationship. Still, the judgement bites at her insides unpleasantly, a disapproval is unwavering in its nature. Misty is almost glaring now, eyes boring at Cordelia’s lying figure. 

The older blonde doesn’t look at her – she can’t. Is it shame? Embarrassment? Cordelia doesn’t know the answer to that; however, she does know that she has to stand by her decisions, stupid or not. 

“I don’t know, he used to be sweet.” 

Misty scoffs, rolling her eyes. “Wasn’t anythin’ sweet about him. He was playin’ you.” 

She bristles then, a wounded glare making itself known to the Cajun, who somehow manages to hold her own. “You didn’t know him like I did,” she tries, “I loved him.” Even as the words leave her mouth, she wishes she could sound more convincing. 

Next to her, Misty turns in her direction, knees knocking against Cordelia’s as they lay stretched out over the bonnet of the car. She looks apologetic, no – she’s filled with sympathy, and that irks Cordelia more than it should. 

With the long sound of a sigh being inhaled and then forced out of her lips, she shrugs. “You’ll understand when you get a boyfriend.” 

Nothing but silence is offered from Misty then and this prompts Cordelia to gaze her way, eyes locking with her friend's in a quiet quest to read her thoughts. She doesn’t succeed, only leaving herself more confused by Misty’s sudden demeanor change, especially as she curls in on herself. She ignores the terse energy she’s lay out before them, because that’s all she can do in the moment, and she looks up to the sky. Light pollution skews the sight, but she can make out some of the stars watching over them. 

As the wind glides between them, it leaves a cold clasp in its wake and she shivers involuntarily. Misty does catch this now, lips twitching with a smile. She reaches for the hoodie that Cordelia had thrown off due it being doused in flour and offers it out. “Thanks,” she smiles, easily slipping into it and patting away the white dust that clings stubbornly. “I’ll have to wash this for you.” 

“Oh, you don’t have to,” Misty starts, as usual. 

Cordelia feels her tension drift away along with that nervous energy and they’re back to being best friends again. “It’s the least I can do.” She turns her eyes away from the night sky and rolls onto her front, swinging legs up behind her. Misty’s eyes drag down her entire body then back to her face, tongue darting from pink lips for just a moment. 

She sits up, stretching toned arms over her head and sighing. “What if your mom sees it?” 

“She won’t ask about it. . .” she says. She _hopes_. “I can just say I dropped flour over myself in home ed.” 

“One problem.” Misty grins. “You are a terrible liar.” 

Mouth falling open, she elicits a tiny gasp. “I am not.” 

Misty erupts into giggles at the sight of it, a small shake of her head following. 

“Why am I a bad liar?” She pouts. 

“Your voice goes all nervous and you can see it in your eyes.” 

This gives her pause, scrutinizing Misty under a blank stare that grows more intrigued by the minute. “My eyes?” Under her gaze, Misty shifts. Eyes widen and squint on repeat as unknown thoughts run across her features. 

Her words are gravelly, straining against resistance in her throat. “Yeah. I dunno what it – I can just . . . tell.” She ends lamely, bowing her head. 

“So, I can’t keep any secrets from you?” Her words are innocent, but come across as something much deeper. A feeling tugs at the pit of her stomach, spreading like roots until all her insides are tangled in the tightness. 

Misty smirks. “I’m afraid not.” 

She watches her friend, not realizing how focused she is on her lips until she’s snapped back into reality with another chilling gust of wind. Despite its icy clutches, she is thankful for the interruption, suddenly feeling irritatingly hot. “How do you know I’m not keeping secrets from you already?” 

“Me?” She laughs, all pretty in her southern cadence. Cordelia swoons, and then firmly presses her lips together for fear of saying something altogether stupid, or friendship altering. “Thought I was your friend?” She teases. 

“Well, have you told me all your secrets?” 

The ease slips from her face, contrasted with wrinkles and hard lines. “I don’t have any,” she says, too seriously, too quickly. 

Any laughter dies on Cordelia’s lips. But, ever too keen to change the mood, she sighs. “I’ll tell you one thing, Misty Day.” 

There it is, that smile again. It brings a grin onto her own lips. “Go on.” 

“When I found out about Hank cheating,” she pauses, suddenly finding the cold metal of the bonnet interesting, “I guess I did feel betrayed.” 

Misty blinks, voice gentle as she asks, “but?” 

“But, I also felt kind of relieved.” 

“Oh.” 

“Hmm.” 

“Really? I thought you guys were _so_ happy together.” There’s a bite in her words, and Cordelia settles it with a glare. 

Hands subconsciously rise to cross over her chest, taking hold of her arms in a hug. “Things were okay. They weren’t bad or anything, and he was always nice to me.” She feels a twist in her stomach as she starts to gather the next few words, an ongoing debate as to if she should. _It’s Misty. She won’t tell anyone._ “And, if I’m being completely honest, I think I was starting to have feelings for someone else.” 

Now, Misty joins her in sitting upright as Cordelia seems to hold every ounce of attention that the Cajun has. “Who?” 

_You._

She blinks, and chokes down that word. It slides painfully until it sits heavily on her lungs. Cordelia turns away, a half-smile on her lips that catches the moonlight in a way that has Misty’s gaze intensifying. 

Misty chuckles, nervously so, all the while leaning in closer. “Come on, tell me.” 

It's all so tempting, too inviting, but any semblance of courage she thinks she could summon cowers inside her. And all she can do is sigh. “It doesn’t matter.” 

Misty’s doesn’t look disappointed as she’d expected, but only locks her jaw in thought. She eyes Cordelia for a few more moments then turns to look at the town from their perch, shivering in her thoughts. When a yawn follows, Cordelia stiffly climbs off the front of the car and stretches her legs. One glance at her phone tells her that it’s later than she’d thought, and she smiles at how easily time passes with Misty there. 

Turning around, she spies Misty is standing too, hands running through her dishevelled hair as she tries to renew some energy. It doesn’t work, and on the drive home she watches the way she sits with hooded eyes, mouth falling slightly open. 

Cordelia clears her throat, forcing Misty to peer up at her, through fluttering eyelashes. 

“Yeah?” 

“Thanks.” She says, keeping her eyes on the road, because she thinks if she looks at Misty, she might want to blurt out more. “Thank you for tonight. I really needed that.” 

Misty grins, stretching long legs out and mewling like a cat. “Hmm, ‘s no problem. Anything for you, Delia.” 

That should bring a smile to her own lips, but it merely elicits a strangled noise that snags against the roof of her mouth and refuses to look any further. Misty stares, eyes questioning. 

By now, however, she’s pulling into their stop. The lights of Misty’s home call out in the distance, signalling that someone is still up, unsurprisingly. From the sounds of it, there’s a lot of foot traffic from her older siblings and Misty staying out until almost midnight is hardly shocking for the Day clan. 

Cordelia lingers, as she always does. “I could drive closer, you know.” 

“No.” Misty replies, rehearsed. “I can walk from here.” The embarrassment that flows from her is hard to miss, and it does its usual job of making Cordelia feel guilty. 

“But it’s dark.” 

“We ain’t got neighbors for a while. I’ll be fine.” She’s already slinging her bag over her shoulder and reaching for the hoodie that Cordelia has shed in the warm car. A slender hand takes hold first, refusing her. 

The older blonde smiles. “I told you, I’ll wash it.” 

She doesn’t argue, instead flashing a brilliant smile. 

“Okay,” she laughs, “night, Delia. Get home safe.” 

“You too.” Her words are serious, nervous, as though Misty’s house isn’t sitting a few minutes away. But the walk unnerves Cordelia, as she sits and watches her disappear down the dirt path, a canopy of trees on either side of her. About half way down, she turns. A small hand rises, giving Cordelia one last fleeting wave before her head is bowing, almost sadly, and she’s continuing her retreat. 

Cordelia stays there until her eyes strain against the dark. She spies light flooding out of the front door as it opens, and allows her to have a breath. 

Finally, she drives away, reflecting on her strange night. 

… 

The weekend gives her a chance to think some more, when she’s not catching up with the demanding amount of homework her senior year brings. 

And before she has time to even blink, she’s back at school on the Monday, bustling her way from math to history. She spies Misty in the hallways a couple of times, offering her a small wave and as much conversation one can get in a couple of minutes, but it’s not until lunch that she gets to see her properly. 

Being the President of the gardening club (yes, that’s a thing and something she’s actually pretty proud of), she usually spends her lunch hour in there. She waters and tends to the plants, sometimes she even talks to them. Cordelia is pretty good at convincing herself that she gets more sense out of plants than she does most people. 

Today, as well as Thursday, is one of the days that Misty helps her, too. 

She smiles at the sound of the door opening, not even having to turn around to know it’s the Cajun. “Hey,” she greets happily, lowering the watering can slowly onto the desk. 

Misty smiles in return, lowering her tattered bag to one of the chairs and showing Cordelia one of the plants she found on the way to school. It’s quickly placed in her “orphanage” - a series of wilting and battered plants that earn extra attention from the blonde. 

They chat easily and softly, with glances here and there when the other one isn’t looking. Cordelia eventually remembers the hoodie in her bag, pulling out the neatly folded item and passing it to Misty with a smile. “How’d you get it so soft?” She asks, rubbing it softly against her face and smiling with content. 

A laugh falls over her lips. “Must be the fabric conditioner Fiona buys. I can find out which one, if you want.” 

“Sure,” she shrugs, suddenly less interested. 

Cordelia spies the way she’s lowered the hoodie and a hand now idly runs over the gold cross around her neck. She places a hand on Misty’s shoulder, transporting the girl from where she’d disappeared into her thoughts. “How was church this weekend?” 

Eyes widen and she stiffens under Cordelia’s touch. For some strange reason, the question always brings a strange air about it before she relaxes into herself once more. “Oh, you know. Same ol’ stuff.” 

She nods as though she does know, but as someone who was raised with a lack of religion, she feels like she’s lost at sea without a lifeboat at the mention. Still, she tries, for Misty. “Hmm.” 

And then, expertly so, Misty is finding a way to avert the conversation in another direction, one she’s all more comfortable with. “I actually found a dyin’ bird on the way back. Tried to take it home and help it.” 

“That’s nice of you,” she smiles genuinely, appreciation for the kind soul that Misty is. 

But that sentiment isn’t shared as Misty looks blanky ahead, face devoid of, well . . . _anything._

She continues to rub her thumb over the cross, as if in some silent prayer. “My daddy shot it.” 

The color drains from Cordelia’s face, and she’s hugging Misty without even realizing she’d gone to do it. “I’m sorry, Misty.” She sees Misty blink away the shining tears that teeter in her eyes, then holds her tighter. Hands reach up to wrap around the small of her back and keep her close. 

“It's okay.” Misty mumbles sadly. “I guess it ain’t sufferin’ anymore.” 

She pulls away from the hug all too quickly, leaving Cordelia’s skin crying out for more. She resists its calls, barely, but her hands does manage to find Misty’s as the younger blonde speaks. 

“He was so angry. Made me pray for an hour after dinner.” 

Cordelia frowns, eyes narrowing. “You were only trying to help.” As Misty’s silence continues, she tries to eradicate it with a short laugh. “It’s a good thing he didn’t find out what we did on Friday then.” 

She smiles then, even if it is shyly so. “Yeah,” she dares to laugh too. Standing, she tries to busy herself with pruning some of the plants while Cordelia lingers nearby. “In the grand scheme of things, though, I guess what we did ain’t so bad.” 

“No?” 

“Nah,” she gives a soft shake of her head, “when my brother was doin’ drugs, he only had to do all the chores for a month.” 

She peers curiously at Misty, enjoying that she’s sharing a part of her life that no one gets to see. 

Misty continues, unaware of her thoughts. “And my sister almost had a baby outta wedlock, which I’m sure Daddy would have shunned her for.” She smiles then, “thank God she had the sense to get married. I’d have missed her.” 

Having no siblings, Cordelia only nods in empathy and nothing else. She doesn’t understand the idea of missing someone that way; she barely even misses when her own mother goes away for work visits. Solitude is something that she’s grown all to accustom to. She regards Misty with growing interest, wanting to know more about her siblings, about her relationship with them. Maybe she’ll let her in - maybe one day she’ll actually be able to go her house. 

She grins. “Well, it looks like you’re pretty safe then. Seems your dad is pretty forgiving.” 

She’s nodding quickly then, humming a soft tune under her breath for a moment. “Yeah, it ain’t too bad.” 

Cordelia smiles, too. 

“If he wouldn’t kick you out for drugs or prenuptial babies, surely you’re safe.” 

Until Misty says something that brings all serenity in the room crashing down around her. 

“Only thing he’d kick me out for is being a dyke.” 

The way the word falls so easily, so innocently from her lips, causes Cordelia to splutter over her reluctant response for a matter of a few seconds. Misty stares, confused. “What’s wrong?” 

“Misty,” she breathes, “that word. . .” 

“What? Dyke?” 

She winces, eyes closing. “Yes. You shouldn’t say that.” 

Her face scrunches up in bewilderment, features pinched tightly together. “Why? Are you . . .?” 

“ _No!_ ” she says all too quickly, hands slamming down on the counter so hard that Misty jumps. She continues to stare, waiting for an explanation for something that is clearly normal to her, and all of a sudden Cordelia realizes that maybe she doesn’t want to know about Misty’s family as much as she thought she did. “I just – that's not a very nice word, Misty.” 

She bows her head. “It isn’t?” 

Cordelia is vehemently shaking her head, finding herself inching away from Misty with a tight pain in her chest. She tries with all her might to ignore it. “You might offend someone.” 

“Gosh. . . I didn’t realize.” Misty sighs, staring longingly at the space now between her and her friend. Her voice is quiet, barely a whisper. “That’s what my Daddy says.” 

“You don’t have to listen to everything to he says, you know.” She hates the way her voice cuts through the air, how it does nothing to slice the tension, only allow it to grow tenfold. Misty’s fingers slow around the tomato plant under her touch, brows still knitted together as guilt clouds her eyes. 

She turns to Cordelia, thoughtful. “What _should_ I say?” 

“Girls who like girls are called lesbians,” she says softly, “not. . . _that_.” Her brain can’t even fathom the idea of saying it. Misty nods then, though is still doing her best impression of a sad puppy with big, blue eyes and bottom lip curling over. 

“And,” she continues, voice strong and authoritative despite its quite nature, “there is nothing wrong with being a lesbian – certainly not something to warrant kicking someone out of your home.” 

Misty is nodding once more, more hurriedly. Eyes flash up to Cordelia with intensity, thoughts burning away behind them and she looks up to her friend like she wants nothing more to believe her, but those eyes are tinged with an eternal sadness. 


	2. you can make me feel like it isn't so

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the kudos and comments :) from my planning looks like this one is gonna be a slow burn so hope you're prepared. Let me know what you think of this chapter!

Any irritation at their earlier conversation vanishes by the end of the lunch period. She reasons that being mad at Misty is like being mad at someone who’s been brought up believing the Earth is flat and then suddenly is thrust into information about its spherical existence. _She didn’t know any better._ Still, the work dyke parrots accusingly in her mind, and she realizes that any feelings she might be haboring for the blonde are best left to rot. 

But they can still be friends, _best_ friends. 

Friends who laugh together and garden, and get revenge on cheating ex – boyfriends. That’s better than the notion of not being friends with her at all. 

As best as she tries, their conversation lingers and her mind overexerts itself in conjuring ideas of what Misty’s home life is like. Ever since transferring here last year, she’s been pretty mute about it, something that is confirmed by everyone that she asks. 

Zoe looks to her apologetically. “I’m not sure, Cordelia. Doesn’t she have, like loads of siblings?” The question is unsure, just something thrown out in hopes of being right. 

It hurts Cordelia that she isn’t sure exactly _how_ many her best friend has, a guilt-ridden pang striking her insides. Misty knows about her life, doesn’t she? About Fiona and her absent father, about her big, lonely house and how she plans to become a teacher, just like the headmistress thinks she should be. 

And Misty? Well, she’s never mentioned her mother, but her dad is brought up freely. Though from what she’s heard, Cordelia isn’t quite sure where she stands with him, which seems rather cruel for someone she’s never met. But through Misty’s words, he sounds like a hard authoritarian with a habit for mistaking Misty’s kindness as feeble natured. 

She sighs in thought, frowning as Madison jumps in. 

“Yeah,” she agrees, “all of them live in some tiny trailer in the middle of the swamp. Pretty gross if you ask me.” 

“Too bad nobody _is_ asking you.” She scowls, dangerously. Casting attention away from her, even as she smirks from getting a rise out of Cordelia, she settles on Mallory. “You go to her church, don’t you? What’s she like there?” 

The brunette purses her lips together thoughtfully, eyes flickering between her hands and Cordelia’s unwavering gaze. “Honestly,” she shrugs, “I never really notice her. They leave as soon as the service is over and her dad usually looks pretty pissed about something.” 

Cordelia ignores the swill of unease in her stomach, then hums in thanks. 

Mallory then tilts her head. “Where is the sudden interest from?” 

Shifting in her seat, she glances down at the work currently going ignored by the group, and wishes their persistent gazes would go away. They don’t; she’s forced into a corner without anywhere to go, only able to heave a sigh from her painful lungs. “She’s my friend.” It’s spoken lamely, with about as much conviction as she can muster. Which, for the record, is not much at all. 

Madison’s eyes glimmer wickedly. 

“Friends?” She scoffs. “Don’t think my friends look at me like you do Misty.” 

Spying the blush creeping across Cordelia’s cheeks and the panic in the corners of her eyes, Zoe jabs Madison in the ribs in an act of sympathy. Her countering yell earns the attention of the teacher and forces them to pretend to be focused in trigonometric functions rather than their actual conversation. 

“Don’t even joke about that.” She insists, a frown deeply embedded into her expression. “Especially not around Misty!” 

“Why? Trouble in paradise?” 

_No, because if a joke even circulates that she’s gay, then her dad might kick her out and it will probably ruin her entire life._

She bristles, muscles tensed uncomfortably. “Just . . . don’t.” 

“Or what?” she teases, chewing on the end of her pen with a grin. “Are you two gonna egg my car?” 

All eyes focus is on her once more, wanting confirmation on the rumor that’s been circulating the school all morning. She can’t help herself then, pride seeping into the cracks that the frown had left. “He deserved that.” She insists with her best attempt at a nonchalant shrug. 

“You should have let us come.” Zoe says, a fire burning behind her own eyes. It brings a swell of belonging, at the idea of her other friends wanting to have helped. In hindsight, Madison would have loved every second of it, but then she knows that there’s always the possibility of it going too far with her. Most likely there would have been broken windows, at the very _least_. 

She smiles softly. “It wasn’t my idea.” 

Out of the corner of her eyes, she catches sight of Madison’s liberal eye role, then the gentle, musing expression that Mallory holds beside her. She feels under scrutiny once more, enough to cause her to actually focus on her work in hopes of finding an escape. 

All she’d wanted was to know more about Misty, not for her friends to start some incredulous theories about her feelings. Said feelings that she buries deep down so that no one, especially Misty, will never have to deal with them. 

… 

She waits for Misty to finish track, scrolling idly through her phone as she leans against her car. The warm winter sun bores down at her, causing eyes to squinting in protest. So preoccupied, she barely notices the figure storming up to her in the throes of rage. She perhaps senses that first, eyes flickering upwards and ice running through her spine at the sign of Hank. 

“Oh, it’s you,” she deadpans. 

“What the _fuck_ , Cordelia?” 

His normally kind eyes are dark, beady things that bare no familiarity, irises straining against bloodshot whites. At the sight of his firm set scowl and tight teeth, she forces herself to stand taller, phone lowered to her side in abandon. “Am I supposed to know what you’re talking about?” 

His nostrils flare, easily resembling an enraged bull. _Fitting_. He certainly acts like an animal. 

“I know that you did that to my car – you think I’m stupid?” 

Cordelia remains silent, letting her lack of an answer concisely say what she really thinks. 

“So, you’re just gonna ignore me now?” 

She smiles, the act sickeningly sweet. “Now, why would I do anything to your car, Hank? That would be rather petty of me.” 

As expected, his face grows redder, veins pushing against the skin of his neck and puffs of air grunt from his nose. “You’re such a fucking bitch. Just wait until I send you the bill for it to be cleaned.” 

Cordelia rolls her eyes, scoffing and forcing down the rampant irritation inside of her. “And I will send it right back, so you have something to wipe your crocodile tears on.” 

“Are you kidding me right now? I could go to the police for trespassing on our property.” 

“ _Please_.” 

“I’m serious.” He slams a hand down on the metal frame of the car beside her, pressing her firmly between him and its exterior. Panic momentarily flashing through her, she feels her muscles turn as hard as steel, hand rising to lay flat against his chest and push him out of her space. It only bolsters him further, and he inches closer – what was once a long time ago a welcome smell of his cologne now infiltrates her senses in a nauseating attack. 

She scrunches her eyes closed and offers another unceremonious shove. “You know who my mom is, right? Maybe you’re the stupid one, ‘cause if you touch me again, I swear to god you will regret it.” 

“Your mom is a bitch, just like you.” 

His presence doesn’t yield, remaining a frustrating barrier between her and the rest of the world. That is, until a pale hand on Hank’s shoulder yanks him away and she hears a voice makes her insides jump from relief. “I think it’s time you leave.” Misty’s thin lips are placed into the tightest of lines, blue eyes no longer the calm waters that Cordelia is used to, but the crashing waves of the angriest ocean she’s ever seen. And with her hair swept back into a loose pony tail, Cordelia can see every wrinkle and lines of displeasure that litter her face. 

He shrugs off her touch, backing away from Cordelia when Misty steps between them like some protective guardian. The older blonde bites back a laugh as she realizes Misty’s slender frame almost matches up to Hank’s own height, only an inch or so off, but with her formidable expression she seems all that much taller. 

Still embracing his belligerent nature, he looks her up and down, then stares past to where Cordelia glares with a firm set jaw. “I’d go if I were you,” she warns, Misty’s presence doing wonders to instil her with further confidence. He seems to debate with himself, eventually relenting to the small, rational side of his brain and he makes his retreat. 

“Good riddance,” she mumbles under her breath, loosening the tight grip on her bag she hadn’t realized was there. Misty spins, her solemn glare melting under the winter sun and a smile springing onto her lips. 

A hand holds onto Cordelia’s shoulder, filled with the uttermost tenderness compared to the treatment Hank got. “You okay?” 

“Yeah.” She steadies herself with a deep breath and fingers running through straight, blonde hair. “You know what it’s like with ex’s.” 

She gives a weak nod, eyes peering down. Cordelia takes a moment to appraise her, eyes peering lower to the shorts of her track uniform that end half way up her thigh and reveal the impossibly long expanse of her toned legs. Blinking, she jerks her head up and finds Misty’s eyes, then spies the thin layer of sweat across her forehead. “Come on, let’s go.” 

With one glance over to Hank’s retreating figure, she climbs into the car and Misty follows suit, throwing her piles of bags in the footwell. She sighs, eyes closing tiredly for a minute as she settles into the passenger seat. 

“You have fun?” Cordelia asks, just to fill the air as they begin to leave the lot. 

She gives a wry smile. “I wouldn’t exactly call runnin’ fun.” 

“You’re the one who chooses to do it.” She counters with a smirk. 

As she peers at Misty through the corner of her eyes, she sees her hastily tugging the hair tie out and ruffling her curls wildly around her head. Bandana bracelets adorning each wrist, both hosting a different floral pattern, and quickly catch Cordelia’s attention. She reaches her hand out without thinking, taking hold of the nearest one. “Are these new?” 

Fingers around the younger’s blonde’s wrist and eyes back on the long road ahead, she doesn’t see the way that Misty squirms and winces under even her gentle touch on her wrist. She gives a forced smile as Cordelia briefly turns back awaiting an answer. 

“Yeah,” she speaks against a lump in her throat, quickly clearing it away. “My sister gave me some old clothes but they were too big. Thought I’d make some stuff outta them.” 

“They’re pretty.” 

Misty’s eyes brighten with a genuine glow, appreciative and delicate. “Thanks, Delia.” That affectionate gaze quickly falters, taking on the guise of something altogether troubled and Cordelia feels it grow in intensity. “Hey, I’m sorry about before, you know. I didn’t mean to upset you.” 

She frowns as stifling air suddenly pushes inside her, the heavy words catching Cordelia off guard. Readjusting her hands on the wheel, she ignores the whites of her knuckles poking through pale skin. “It’s fine,” she sighs. 

From barely a couple of feet beside her, Misty radiates a nervous and frantic energy, one that makes her insides run cold with something she can’t quite place. She ignores the aching in her chest and stretches out a hand to ever so lightly at Misty’s knee, feeling the soft hairs and skin underneath her touch. “Don’t beat yourself up about it.” But words seem to fall on deaf ears as Misty spends most of the ride back twiddling her fingers and fidgeting with the hem of her shirt. 

She gently calls her name as they pull onto Cordelia’s drive, tugging her from her thoughts with a growing smile. “You coming?” 

Misty nods keenly, scrambling for her things and following Cordelia inside. She takes her shoes off in the hallway as always, despite Cordelia’s amused resistance, then traipses up the stairs at her side. Within the expansive rooms, Misty seems smaller than ever, curling in on herself and holding her bags to her chest. It isn’t under they’re in her room that she lets her guard down, chest expanding as she remembers how to breathe. 

The Cajun throws herself onto the double bed, legs and arms starfishing, with hair twisted underneath her and the easiest of grins on her pretty lips. Cordelia feels her knees go weak at the sight, only managing to lower her bag to the desk and muster a half-hearted tease. “Gross, you’re all sweaty.” 

Tilting her head in Cordelia’s direction, she giggles and bites on her lip. “Aw, I ain’t that bad.” 

The sight before her beckons her numb legs forward, all too tempting, and she lowers herself to the soft sheets beneath. With each movement, Misty watches with unconditional interest. Her lips twitch into an inviting smile, curling upwards until her eyes are crinkling at the corners, too. 

Cordelia finds herself running fingers through Misty’s mane, feeling the heat flooding from her scalp. “Hmm, and you’re really warm, too.” 

Misty closes her eyes from the sensitive ministrations, practically melting on the spot. 

And she thinks that she could sit like this forever, until she sees that it’s later than she thought, coming back into reality with a sigh. “How about I go make us something to eat while you go take your bath?” 

At the prospect of food, Misty gives an impish grin. “You are the best, Delia.” She reluctantly sits herself up, then rises on sinewy legs and makes for Cordelia’s closet. With the robe in her hands, eyes remain on Cordelia, reluctant to turn away. Under the appraisal, she feels herself shift, head bowing briefly and fingers subconsciously itching with the need to do _something_. There’s an unknown nature to Misty’s stare; she half expects her to speak, if the pensive wave across her face is any hint, but she only smiles. The act is all cheeks and teeth, azure eyes catching the emotion of the smile in a way that makes Misty radiate joy. She mirrors the action, although altogether unsurely. 

But Misty doesn’t talk. Slowly, she drops the paralyzing gaze and releases Cordelia of its hold. The older blonde still watches her walk into the adjoined bathroom, then moments later hears the faucet turning. 

Satisfied, she makes the journey down to the kitchen where she peers through the fridge for food and settles on pizza. It’s easy; Cordelia making the addition of Misty’s favorite toppings to her half (she cringes as she places pineapple on for her) while losing herself in thoughts. The most pivotal thought being of her friend, currently sat in Cordelia’s very own bath as if that’s the most normal thing in the world. 

It’s normal for them, she supposes. An idea summoned by Cordelia herself almost a full year ago now, when Misty had told her that her house doesn’t have a bath, just a small electric shower, and had gushed about how much she misses them. Her kind encouragement to use hers had been met with bewilderment, then protests, then grateful smiles as Misty’s resolve wore down. 

And now, if Misty comes to her house, it’s normally one of the first things she does. _It’s not weird. That’s what friends do, right?_

No one answers her question, and she’s too scared to answer it herself, so she scrolls through videos on her phone for a distraction and waits for the food to cook. Soon, the kitchen fills mouth-watering smells, beckoning her forward. She smiles at the sight of the pizza, cheese bubbling away invitingly, and quicky cuts it into pieces that she divides into two plates. 

Said plates burn her hands as she climbs the staircase back to her room. Cordelia nudges the door open, slowing when she hears a quiet voice singing out, “ _you touched my hand and you smiled, all the way back you held out your hand_.” 

Her voice is as gentle as a summer’s breeze, light and loving, and Cordelia finds herself entwined in the pretty notes as she crosses her room. 

“ _If I hope, and if I pray. . ._ ” 

The noise lulls, leaving in its place the stammering of Cordelia’s heart, that she quickly satiates with a firm reprimand. 

She chokes on a wistful sigh, then finds her own voice in the thickening tension that she’s not quite sure how she created so efficiently. “Misty?” 

There’s the disturbance of water, something banging against the tub, then a hurried, “yeah?” 

“Food’s ready.” 

“I’ll be out in a minute.” 

Cordelia makes herself comfortable at the head of her bed, nestling into the plethora of cushy pillows and reaching for the controller to turn the TV on. She flicks through channels, disinterested, but grateful for something to ease the thoughts from her mind. 

The door to the bathroom clicks open, announcing Misty’s presence as she tiptoes out, a bundle of clothes in her hands that are lazily shoved into her bag. Cordelia stares from the corner of her eyes, revelling in the sight of Misty in _her_ robe, with wet, bedraggled locks falling on either side of her face. With all remnants of eye makeup gone, they somehow appear seemingly larger than normal, and stare right over at her friend with startling intensity. 

It’s gone in a flash as she sits on the bed too, grinning at the sight of the food waiting for her. “Thanks.” She mumbles around a slice, lifting her hand to catch the escaping sweetcorn and pineapple. 

Cordelia watches, taking sight of her tongue wrapping expertly around it, and turns away with a hot blush that she hopes Misty doesn’t see. She’s thankful that no meal ever lasts too long in Misty’s presence, because she could stare all day. But soon they are focussed to the task at hand, books and papers strewn about the pair. 

She feels her head pulsing in pain at the prospect of more math, the numbers and formulas beginning to merge into nondescript shapes. “A.” Misty says plainly as they stare at the next SAT question together, before Cordelia even has chance to finish reading. She blinks up at Misty, then back to the question as she figures out the answer herself. Her smile grows then, a mixture of mirth and slight annoyance. 

“Show off,” she mumbles. 

Misty laughs too, cheeks changing to the softest hue of pink. “Oh, don’t be jealous.” 

“How are you so much better at math?” 

“Math is easy,” she teases. “And you’re one to talk! You’ve practically already got a scholarship for college.” The words take a hint of a sadness that Cordelia just about catches until Misty is covering it with a withering smile. 

She catches on her own words, never been one to brag, unlike her mother. She deflects quickly, eyes beginning to grow weary from so much concentration. “You’ll get one too, I know.” Misty stills under her gaze, eyes thoughtful. 

Then, she too perfects the art of diversion. She reaches for Cordelia’s glasses that lay ignored on the bedside table, handing them over to her. “You’re supposed to use them when you’re readin’” she says, much like a mother scolding a child. But Cordelia doesn’t shrink away from it; she feels corners of lips tugging upwards. 

The idea of college weighs at the forefront of her mind, and she perseveres with the topic as she places the black rimmed glasses onto her face. She hates them, but they’re certainly better than uncomfortable contacts. “I really hope you go to college too, Misty.” She breathes into a deep smile, “wouldn’t it be great if we went to the same one?” 

The Cajun sits taller then, eyes glistening and wide and daringly hopeful. She looks so pretty like this, the light scattering of freckles around her nose wrinkling with her smile, a certain rejuvenated spirit washing over her, and excitement exuding her every pore. It’s a refreshing sight, as though Cordelia is just getting the taste of water again after a gruelling journey through a desert. 

“It would be,” she agrees quietly. 

They let the idea linger in the air, dancing teasingly around them as both allow their optimistic side to take reins. 

Cordelia fills with glee. “We could even be roommates. We’d have so much fun.” 

Misty nods, chuckling softly. 

“I’d like that.” 

The idea honestly makes Cordelia grow drunk with possibilities; having a housemate who’s somewhat consistent in her life and, not only that, but wants to take an active interest in it. She finds herself physically unable to stop grinning, then teeth tug at her lower lip happily. She thinks how freeing it would be, about not coming home to an empty house, about having voices and singing and laughter filling the rooms. Most of all, she thinks about how less lonely she’d feel. 

This brings the familiar dark swell inside her chest, dampening the job in said cavity. 

But then Misty’s sweet voice severs any further thought, lulling her back into reality. “Hey, earth to Delia, you in there?” 

A hand sweeps in front of her face and comes to rest beside the one that Cordelia is leaning on. It twitches with the want to make contact. Cordelia smiles, close to bashful and apologises with a soft head shake. “Just got lost in my thoughts.” 

“’S fine.” 

“Thinking about college is just making me wanna go already.” The itch to fly the nest is stronger than ever, so much that It's very much beginning to consume endless hours of her life. 

Misty smiles, and then her hand does brush against Cordelia’s. It’s barely there, like the touch of a feather, but Cordelia feels it and then subsequent prickle of electricity that surges through her skin. “Gonna be like girls gone wild.” The Cajun jokes. 

A guffaw catches in her throat at the implication, eyes bulging slightly. “Only if Madison ends up in the same college as me.” 

“That could be dangerous.” Her eyes glisten mischievously at the possibilities. 

“But remember, she’s going straight to Hollywood and taking it by storm, right?” 

Misty’s grin grows even further, accompanying an obnoxious roll of her eyes. “How could I forget?” But then her face twists, a sudden darkening of demeanor that throws Cordelia into super protective mode. She inches in closer, hoping her presence offers some sort of comfort, and places her hand more firmly over Misty’s, surprised at her own lack of hesitation. 

She half expects Misty to pull away, to flinch at the way Cordelia’s tenderness is pouring from her judging by their earlier conversation. But she doesn’t. Fingers curl around her own, even if Misty is only able to muster a wobbly smile from the action. “What’s wrong?” 

“She keeps callin’ me trailer trash.” She grumbles out loud, anger lacing her tone. 

Every muscle in Cordelia hardens, except for the ones currently holding Misty’s hand, and she regards her with a frown. “She’s a bitch. Don’t listen to her.” 

“Just wish she didn’t have to be such a bitch in front of the whole school.” She sighs, a slight defeat overcoming her, before it’s replaced with stoic features. “Sick of people lookin’ at me like I’m a piece of garbage.” 

“Misty, that’s not . . .” She slows as a stubborn gaze meets hers, words halting in its quake. 

And she never forgets how strange this is, seeing Misty so vulnerable. The girl wears an unbreakable armor at school, protecting her in the war that is High School - a war that she wishes she didn’t have to fight. She has the cards stacked against her, with her hand me down clothes and her “backwoods” accent. What she admires most about her is that, despite the names and the whispers, she still shows up the next day with the brightest of spirits and an unbeatable kindness. 

But sometimes, as rare as the blue moon, the softer side comes out. As though it’s reserved for her and her alone. She sees the tears glistening in her blue pools of irises, the way she chews her lower lip nervously until the skin breaks. “They’re,” she sighs, trying to delicately pluck the right words from her arsenal, “they’re just ignorant. Madison, included.” Cordelia then stretches out her other hand and moves in nearer, until fingers are clasping under Misty’s chin. “But it doesn’t matter what they think. Only what you think.” 

“You sound like Miss Snow.” Misty laughs, all wry and half there. 

She feigns offence, but in all honesty, being compared to their kind headmistress is a stroke to her ego. 

Misty then lifts her own hand and it seeks out to where Cordelia so tenderly grips her jaw. She tilts her head slightly, the ghost of a smile dancing across her lips and hair brushing over both their arms. “I don’t care what anyone else thinks,” she says, surely, as though repeating that mantra might make it real, “’cept you. I care what you think of me.” 

The confession causes her heart to skip a couple of beats, insides compacting together nervously. “Well, that’s good ’cause I think the world of you, Misty Day. You’re my best friend.” 

She suddenly seems less small, any doubt chased from her features. “You’re mine, too.” 

Cordelia feels stupid for the way she reacts so keenly to the word _mine_ , glad that Misty doesn’t seem to notice. The younger blonde does however seem to zone in on their joined hands, staring down at them as though the decisions to combine them hadn’t been her own. She all but jumps away, severing the contact with cold air between them. 

With that, any illusions are shattered, and Cordelia ignores the stab of pain to her chest. 

Misty doesn’t look directly at her at first, still worrying her lip, still fidgeting with unused energy, before Cordelia tries to compensate with words, at least. 

She smiles into a sigh. “Hey, do you remember the day we first met?” 

The Cajun’s head snaps up, unable to not react to a direct question. Any rigidity in her body melts under the nostalgic reminder, “yeah.” She nods. “You got annoyed at me ‘cause I came into your greenhouse uninvited and started movin’ all that plants.” 

“I wasn’t annoyed.” She counters, bordering on a playful whine. 

Misty snorts into her hand, eyes growing delightfully wide as saucers and doing a great job at hypnotizing Cordelia. “You called me a _plant meddler._ ” 

“Oh for – " She balks, though laughs are at the threat of bubbling over her lips at all time. “Why do you always mention that?” 

“I remember goin’ home that night thinkin’ I’ve never met anyone like ya.” 

She stills, ears hot and chuckling softly. 

“And then a week later you came to ask me to join your club ‘cause the plants were doin’ much better where put ‘em.” 

“I still don’t know how you did that.” She narrows eyes at her, more in closeted admiration than any sort of accusation. 

Shrugging off the half compliment, she smiles plainly. And Cordelia wants to touch her again, wants to grab hold of her hands and bring her impossibly closer, but she fights the urge with every inch of reason within her. She steadies herself on the bed, feeling the cold papers against fingertips; they force her to remember that forgotten task at hand. 

Misty notices too, eyes flickering down and then up again. “Guess we got a little distracted, huh?” 

“Guess so.” 

“I’m tired of studyin’” she remarks with a pout, shoulder slumping. 

Cordelia hums her agreement, but insists they carry on. It’s not the work that she wants to do, but she knows that the best thing for idle hands is to keep the distracted. And if doing school work stops her from wanting to touch Misty at every possible moment, then school work it is. 


	3. they don't see you like I do

Biology is her most favorite subject. 

She’d like to convince herself that it’s because of a certain zeal for the subject (and she likes it, don’t get her wrong), but Cordelia knows with great certainty that it isn't the reason. Instead, said reason is sitting about a foot to her left and currently doodling on the edge of the worn notebook. 

Ahead, Miss Pembroke drones on about trophic levels and ecology, the monotony of the lecture causing Cordelia to lose focus. She feels her eyes droop once, twice, before blinking. She leans to one side, so dangerously far that she fears she might topple off the stool if she dares go an inch further, and peers over at Misty. “What are you drawing?” she whispers. 

Misty startles under the scrutiny, pencil stalling on the hooded eyes she draws. She twists in the spot, eyes momentarily darting to the teacher with the hint of nervousness, before she pushes the notebook closer to Cordelia. The older blonde has to cover her mouth to fight the laughter that threatens to spill at the sight of Miss Pembroke illustrated as a haggard lizard, the apathetic features donning sleepy eyes and a disapproving frown. “Oh my God.” One deep belly laugh pushes through her fingers, that she covers with a choked cough into her hand as Miss Pembroke glares their way. 

A series of minor coughs are thrown in for effect, so much so that Misty reaches over and pats her back, eager to keep up the charade. 

The glower, lacking in intensity as with the rest of her actions, last for all of a few seconds, then it subdues. She turns back to the board, continuing to explain to the disenchanted group of students. 

Cordelia finds her eyes on Misty again, who stares right back. There’s always an intensity to her eyes that she thinks overwhelming, in both a good and bad way. Good, because it makes her feel a symphony of emotions swimming inside, and bad, seeing as she fears she might never know the thoughts behind such potent gazes. 

She feels weightless under those eyes, an ease flowing through her that she rarely experiences. Giggling, she reaches for Misty’s notebook, “do you have any more?” 

Misty’s eyes glisten wickedly, and she grows more daring now, not even bothering to cover the book as she bustles up to Cordelia’s side. Her sweet aroma momentarily dizzies the older blonde, until she anchors herself back in reality. 

The notebook calls out to her once again, and she soon finds that Miss Pembroke isn’t the only inspiration for the illustrations, with most teachers making an appearance. Each cartoon has a unique style, with soft edges and caricature details, yet hold the hints of realness to them. She sits, both impressed and amused, having to spend most of the time with a hand firmly placed over her mouth to keep the chortles at bay. 

And the entire time, Misty watches with joy dancing across her expression so easily that it looks as though it’s always lived there. 

Her own joy vanishes as she catches sight of Madison observing them over Misty’s shoulder, eyes burning with brewing wickedness. Cordelia turns away before its bothers her further, feverishly setting her sights back on drawings which are thankfully inanimate and will not spend the next five minutes making obscene gestures at her. 

Misty notices, though not enough to realize what had happened, and only has the opportunity to glare at Madison, even as close to a snarl, as though Cordelia’s discomfort is enough to set her into protective mode. The corners of her mouth twitch at such a thought. 

It’s not hard for Misty’s art to redeem her good mood, and she smiles softly over at her best friend who shuffles next to her in nervousness. “These are really good.” 

“Ya think?” 

“Well, my art skills are about as good as a one-legged chicken,” she giggles to herself, “but I think they’re amazing.” 

She beams brightly at the compliment, the edges of her cheeks growing rosy. And that’s all the thanks that Cordelia needs for her praises before she turns back to her curious peeking. 

The pages are soon littered with animals and plants, so real that she has to brush fingers over them in disbelief. Misty, in turn, seems bashful and modest, only watching through thick eyelashes that flutter delicately like the wings of a butterfly. 

Cordelia spies something somehow more distracting in the corner of her eyes, something that draws all her thoughts to a blinding halt. “Is that _me_?” 

She can recognise her own features in the graphite lines, shocked at the kind eyes and delicate smile that dances on the image’s lips. But the notebook vanishes from within her grasp, into the clutching fingers of Misty who holds it tightly to her chest like she might snatch it back. She wants that; to study every detail of the picture she’d seen, the one of her that had painted the older blonde in such a beautiful light she never thought possible. 

Misty shrinks under the growing pressure. 

“That ain’t you,” she mumbles unconvincingly. 

She blinks, a confused smile gluing to her features. “It looked like me.” Her forehead crinkles neatly as she watches Misty squirming. 

“It -” 

“Cordelia. Misty. This is the second time you have thought it fitting to distract the entire class today.” Miss Pembroke’s irritation is clear, eyes accusing. “Is it something you wish to share with everybody?” 

She stiffens, unfamiliar to the feeling of being scolded by the teacher and shakes her head meekly. Beside her, Misty frowns. “Nope.” She says, popping the ‘p’ and keeping her eyes firmly ahead. 

“Great, so do you think the two of you can stay quiet for the remaining fifteen minutes?” 

Nodding her agreement, Misty does the same, though appears somewhat relieved at the thought that Cordelia can’t question her any further. The notebook doesn’t leave her grasp, and Cordelia notices the way she holds onto her cross absentmindedly, worrying the soft skin of her lower lip. 

When she does catch Cordelia’s eyes, all the older blonde can do is offer a reassuring smile, and hope it works to return things back to normal. Misty bustles in her seat, then relaxes once more. She sighs, all airy and tension free, then smiles back. 

And seeing as she can’t focus on the work, she lets her mind begin to wander to the image burned in her retinas, despite its brief view. The memory it summons is accompanied with twists in her stomach and a tight chest; two things that Cordelia would think uncomfortable, but feel awfully wonderful in that moment. She glances at Misty when she’s not looking, smitten and light, and for a minute she wonders what Misty looked like as she drew that picture of her. 

… 

Lunch brings with it other people’s problems, which are a welcome distraction from her own dangerous thoughts. 

She sits with Zoe who laments over her boyfriend, Charlie, moving to another state, while she and Coco hum and agree during the lulls of quiet. In true mom friend form, she gives as much advice as she can, with a hand sitting squeezing Zoe’s and finally pulling her in for a tight hug. “You’ll be fine,” she whispers into her ear. 

Zoe wipes at red rimmed eyes, sniffling. “Do you think so?” 

“Of course.” Her words come with unbridled assurance. “He can drive, right? Surely he can come and visit.” 

She seems satiated then, nodding softly. “Yeah, I guess. Thanks, Cordelia.” 

A gentle squeeze of her arm is the last bit of comfort she needs, and she returns to her old self before Mallory and Misty make it to the table. 

“Everything alright?” Misty asks in concern upon noticing the demeanor of the three. 

“It’s all good.” Cordelia nods, eyeing Zoe and then looking back to Misty. _I’ll explain later._ Her gaze says, clear enough for Misty to drop the subject and plonk herself down next to her. She pulls out a wrinkled paper bag, then a squished sandwich that is demolished before she moves onto a slightly bruised apple with as much enthusiasm. 

Cordelia watches, a grin playing on her lips. Fingers tap against her forgotten tray that she nudges in Misty’s direction. “You want that? I’m not really all that hungry.” 

“Sure.” Misty agrees happily and moments later digs into that too. 

While the older blonde leans chin against hand, observing almost fondly, the others shake their heads in disbelief. “I wish I could eat like you, Misty.” Coco sighs. “I just have to _look_ at food and I’ve put on like, three pounds.” 

This is where Cordelia takes the moment to consider Coco’s words, eyes drifting over Misty’s slender frame that always seems exaggerated by her ill-fitting clothes. Despite the bagginess, she often uses belts and loops to give herself a waist, albeit a tiny one at that. But somehow, the girl is always grazing on whatever food is available, whether it be Cordelia’s leftovers, or the fruit grown for the gardening club. And there’s something mesmerizing about watching her eat, the way she cherishes every bite, those plump lips, or the hums of appreciation that bubble from inside her. 

Sometimes Cordelia thinks that Misty’s one true love in life is food. 

Even now, eating cafeteria pasta that she more often than not sticks her nose up at, Misty devours it like it’s a gourmet banquet. 

“I don’t eat that much.” Misty insists, earning smirks and glares. 

“You eat like a pig, swampy,” Madison appears, shoving herself between Zoe and Coco, and sipping on the straw in her bottled water. “Anyway, I have something a lot more important to talk about.” She moves the sunglasses from her eyes, nestling them neatly in her hair. “My folks are gone this weekend, so you know what that means.” 

Zoe rolls her eyes. “You’re having another party?” 

“Sure fucking am.” 

“’Cause the last one went so well.” 

Madison glowers, then gives an indifferent shrug that shoos away any concerns. “It’s not my fault the chandelier fell on him. Must have been loose wiring or something . . . weird.” Her eyes move around the circle. “So which ones of you bitches are in? 

“You know I am.” Coco grins delightfully. “I need to get my party on or I might explode.” 

“Cool. What about you, Benson?” 

There’s a moment of consideration despite them all knowing what the eventual answer will be. Cordelia has never really understood the relationship of these two friends, who seem to go from glued at the hip to making remarks about the other in a flash. But still, Zoe’s trepidation simmers into a smile. “I guess. As long as you don’t leave me to go hook up with college guys again.” 

Madison’s own smirk wavers, something dark lurking beneath that has Cordelia narrowing her eyes in wonder, before it’s gone. She holds up her hand, “I promise I will be a lame ass friend who doesn’t leave her other lame ass friend for some dick, alright?” 

Her response is a liberal eyeroll and groan, but Zoe agrees nonetheless, and that’s when Madison sets her sights elsewhere. Cordelia is fully expecting it to be on her, so is thrown into momentary shock as it’s not her name that leaves Madison’s lips. “And you, trailer trash?” 

She hears her own stern voice calling out before Misty’s. “ _Madison_. Don’t call her that.” 

“Alright, fine. You comin’, Misty?” 

Beside her, Misty is still bristled, eyes dark and pissed. “You want me at your party?” 

“Well, we’re friends, aren’t we?" 

It’s probably the first vocal confirmation of such a friendship, as Cordelia had previously assumed they only put up with each other for the sake of the group, and so did Misty if she confused glower is anything to go by. 

Madison scoffs to fill in the awkward silence. “You’ll have fun, swampy. Parties are an awesome excuse to get mind numbingly drunk. It’s even more fun than seed spitting and dumpster diving, I promise you.” 

“Are you makin’ fun of me?” Misty asks, a brow rising as she chews more slowly now, a thoughtful expression beneath her accusing eye. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” 

“Good.” Misty takes another bite, then the fork comes down to stab the last piece in a clearly threatening display, ”’cause I could beat your skinny ass any day of the week.” There’s no humor in her words, though the spectators in the group as smirk and watch with barely hidden glee at the exchange, except Zoe, who seems rather concerned that Madison is going to be pinned to the floor in a matter of moments if she continues. Cordelia thinks she wouldn’t mind to see Misty put the girl in her place. 

“Oh Jesus Christ, are you coming or not?” 

Cordelia listens intently then, hope trickling inside of her as she waits for the answer. 

She sighs, then acquiesces with an answer. “What day?” 

“Saturday.” 

“Can’t,” Misty frowns, “got church the next mornin’.” 

The older blonde bows her head in disappointment, but keeps her mouth shut. 

Madison pouts, “boo, you suck.” She accepts the answer for all of four seconds, adding, “why don’t you just skip? No one will notice. Plus, Cordy is gonna be at the party, right?” 

At the mention of her name, her eyes widen, confusion seeping into her features. _Is she really using me to convince Misty into coming?_ When Madison’s gaze catches her own, she flashes a devilish grin in return. 

“You gotta make sure that none of those college guys are gonna take advantage of her now that she’s on the market again.” 

Misty purses her lips angrily, but doesn’t bite. 

Unfortunately, Coco does. “That’s right, Delia.” She smiles excitedly. “This is how we’re gonna get you over Hank. A good hookup.” 

“I am over Hank.” she insists, still squirming under the attention, especially at Misty’s pensive gaze. 

“I can talk you up to the football team.” Madison offers. “Who knows? Some of them might be into nerds. How else do you think Zoe got a boyfriend?” 

“Jeez, you are unbelievable today.” 

If anything, this only serves to boost the ego that Madison oh so proudly displays, and she delves further into party planning that fills the rest of the lunch hour. Cordelia only checks in when she’s directly questioned, although to her dismay the conversation only revolves around finding her some one-night stand that she wildly objects to. 

Her insistence isn’t taken into consideration, to the point where she catches Misty’s eyes and mouths ‘ _help me_ ’ with nothing short of desperation. 

The Cajun laughs loudly, shuffling in closer somehow and placing a sympathetic hand over hers. Any nervousness at the plans currently being hatched by Madison disappear in the blink of an eye, and she can only stare at the connected skin, enjoying the delicate hold and heat that the touch brings. 

Until it’s gone all too quickly. 

… 

“Are you sure you can’t come?” She asks Misty on the ride home for maybe the tenth time, blindly hoping that the answer might change. 

It doesn’t, and Misty gives her an apologetic shrug. “Wish I could. But if I missed church my daddy would kill me. Like _literally_ , you would be plannin’ my funeral the day after.” 

She visibly deflates, then clicks her tongue thoughtfully. All the while, she can feel a burning gaze relentlessly on her cheek. “It won’t be as fun without you there.” 

Misty smiles genuinely, a sense of pride surging through her body and straightening her posture; it unfortunately is as temporary of a wave upon a beach, waning within a matter of seconds. Dejection takes its place, locking her in a firm grip as she fidgets with ringed fingers. “You can tell me all about it on Monday.” The way her lips curl this time is forced, like they’re fighting against the action with all of their might. Cordelia pulls her own gaze away from it; the subdued smile’s presence only gnaws away at her only brittle happiness. 

“Yeah. . .” She breathes. 

A pause. One that serves akin to a vacuum, stealing the air between them. 

In that time, eyes dip and gaze toward Misty when they should be on the road, but the Cajun’s solemn expression holds her attention without question. Misty stops twiddling her fingers under the scrutiny – she stares back with as much conviction as Cordelia, and the two enter an unconfirmed staring match. 

That is, until Misty breaks it with a darting glance and practically screams her name. 

She breaks on reflex, surging the pair forward so quickly that the seatbelt cuts into her skin and she narrowly misses hitting her head on the steering wheel. Cordelia pokes one eye open, demands that her own muscles listen and unclench from the tight coils they’re in, and turns to Misty. 

Who isn’t _there_. 

Cordelia doesn’t remember hearing the car door open, but over the screeching of tires and squealing brakes, she thinks it’s an easy one to miss. Yet it hangs on hinges, left abandoned, just like the passenger seat. She claws to get her own seatbelt off, then clambers out of the car on wobbly legs. 

Misty’s figure is easily spotted on the quiet road, hunched over on the side where asphalt meets the line of decaying leaves and fresh grass sprouts. As she nears, she sees the tassels of Misty’s shawl dipping into a murky puddle of water, and that knees are already muddied from kneeling on the ground. “Misty.” She questions in disbelief. “What the hell was that? I could have – " 

“She’s dead.” Her voice is so morose and macabre that Cordelia peels back for a moment, skin crawling thick with unease. 

Then she spies it, the fallen doe curled in a heap in front of Misty. Glassy eyes stare back, mouth agape. Although they sicken Cordelia to her stomach to look at, she keeps her steady gaze on those as her peripherals spot blood and tissue and things that most definitely should be on the _inside_ of the animal hanging out of a wound. 

She places a hand on Misty’s shoulder, sensing her sorrow. The action kickstarts Misty back into reality, where she blinks and peers up at Cordelia with a grave nature to each corner of her expression, eyes scarily hard. “I can’t believe someone did this,” she seethes. Cordelia feels muscles as hard as stone beneath her hand, even as they tremble – with anger? Despair? She thinks surely a combination of both. Teeth knock together, forming a tight line, and she’s on her feet, moving to the softer earth where water saturates the dips and the grass sits sparsely. 

Cordelia can only watch, unsure of what to do or say. 

It’s not that she finds Misty’s attachment to animals strange, in fact she thinks it’s utterly endearing. But the concept is altogether foreign to the other blonde, who’s never even had so much as a fish to call her own. She feels sadness settling in the pit of her stomach, but more so at Misty’s reaction than the fallen creature. 

Here is Misty, nothing short of distraught for an animal she’s only just met. She truly is a unique soul, she thinks. 

“You got any shovels in that car of yours?” 

Dragged from her thoughts, she narrows in on Misty where she’s nudging the dirt with the tips of her shoes, assessing and calculating. When she lifts her eyes again, the ire has dissipated, but fragments of impatience litter her expression. 

_Shovels?_ She shakes her head. 

Misty frowns then, inhaling deeply. “Thought not.” 

It takes her all of one second to resort to plan B, on her hands and knees before Cordelia can even register, and clawing at the ground like some frantic squirrel trying to bury a nut. 

She gawks. “What are you doing?” The question is redundant, stupid; it hangs between them like a bad smell. 

Eyes never wavering from her task, Misty says, “well, I’m diggin’ a hole,” like It's the most obvious thing in the world. 

Cordelia’s eyes knit together in bewilderment, lips parting ever so slowly and sucking in cold, winter air. It slices against her lungs, but not as much as the look that Misty suddenly gives her does. 

“You wanna help or are you just gonna watch me do it?” 

Her tone is inscrutable, but enough to have Cordelia gently lowering herself to the ground, too. She cringes at the feel of soggy mud beneath her tights, soaking into the material, and she finds her movements carried out far more gingerly than Misty. The Cajun digs like her life depends on it, scooping out piles of dirt with black fingernails and debris flicking in every direction, even all over her cream dress. If she cares, she doesn’t show it. 

They work in silence, other than heavy breathing, and she thinks how strange this is, how her car doors are still wide open, practically inviting strangers in. She thinks about how the sun, even in the winter, mockingly bores down on them, forcing sweat from her pores, or how the surrounding foliage smells more like rotting than life. But most of all she looks to Misty, and thinks that she’s never met anyone who would _care_ so much about one roadkill deer that most people would have driven past. 

Her heart swells, a tentative warmth making its home right at the center. Said feeling doesn’t subdue, not that she wants it to. Which, the more she thinks about it, the more she’s going to enjoy it right now. Misty doesn’t have to know that she is the object of such an affectionate surge. 

And thankfully, she’s far too distracted. Now satisfied with the size of the hole, she stands and wipes a muddy hand across her forehead. It of course smears, leaving lines and speckles along Misty’s porcelain skin. She is unbothered, marching over to the doe that she heaves with surprising strength and places inside. Cordelia helps, as much as she can bear, but when dirt mixes with congealed blood on her fingers, she taps out. 

The hard bit over, the two cover her with the disturbed mud and flatten it down, while the silence continues. 

Cordelia feels disgusting as the different matters mix between her fingers and forearms into a paste of death. But, eyes solely on Misty, her attention is usurped by the altogether mesmerizing girl, who kneels at the makeshift grave with eyes scrunched closed and one muddied hand clutching the cross around her neck. 

Lips mouth out words so quickly that she can’t decipher them, no matter how hard she tries, but whatever silent prayer Misty is calling out is soon finished, leaving the girl slumping but satisfied. 

She turns to Cordelia, dress soiled, hair awry and looking as though she’s just crawled out of the hole they’ve dug, but there’s a tender smile that returns to her lips. She copies it, hand reaching out and meeting her clothed arm. “You good?” 

“I feel better now.” Misty admits softly, staring down at where they touch. She doesn’t look uncomfortable, so Cordelia lets her fingers remain. 

In turn, Cordelia grins. “Yeah, I’ll feel better after a long, hot shower.” She peers down, regarding herself with a look of horror as she realizes she fares no better than Misty and, released from whatever muggy hold she was in, the Cajun seems to notice too. 

“Oh my . . .” 

Eyes flash wider, sheepish. 

“I’m sorry Delia . . . I didn’t think – I – " 

She shakes her head vehemently. “They’re just clothes.” Very, very expensive clothes that Fiona might freak that she’s ruined, but that is the least of her concerns. She's smiling, invitingly so because she wants to drag the worry that’s currently etched in Misty’s pretty features. “Come on, you can use my shower if you want.” _Misty has her own shower. She doesn’t need to use yours._ She inwardly grumbles at her pathetic excuse to get Misty to come to her house. 

“Actually . . .” Misty starts, voice barely a whisper. 

Cordelia winces, ready to be told that her suggestion isn’t very helpful at all and for Misty to question her motives. 

She doesn’t. 

Misty makes to stand, wiping away the loose dirt and setting a perfect set of blue orbs on her that transfix Cordelia on the spot. She rolls on the balls of her feet thoughtfully, some internal war going on behind her slightly unfocused gaze. A gust of wind comes up behind them, flittering Misty’s already wild hair in every direction. 

Hanging on her silence, Cordelia waits for the rest of the sentence. 

“I wanna show you something.” 

She frowns. “Show me what?” 

There’s a teasing to her smile now, eyes glowing brightly with a nervous anticipation. Cordelia watches her chest expand with a long sigh, then follows it flooding from those pretty lips. “You’ll see.” 

“Misty, we’re in the middle of the swamp. . . there’s not a house for miles – " 

“Do ya not trust me?” 

Playfully said, her tongue traces along the edge of her teeth and upper mouth, keeping Cordelia’s attention. She blinks profusely, wondering how the subject of showering connects to whatever Misty has in mind. Curiosity tugs at her, painfully so, because she knows that this might be a once in a lifetime opportunity with Misty. “Of course I trust you.” 

Misty outstretches a dirty hand, wiggling her fingers enticingly. “C’mon then.” 

And she knows it’s fruitless to deny her, not that she thinks she’s capable of it either way, so she locks her car without even thinking and pushes a gentle smile onto her lips. As she reaches Misty, she takes hold of that hand, interlacing their fingers together. Misty seems to soften even further under the contact, all beaming grins and glistening eyes. And it gives Cordelia pause, because they’ve always been tactile with one another, but they’ve never _held hands_ , not like this. Not wrapped around each other like a perfect puzzle, Misty’s insistent tugging and leading while she obliges with a fond chuckle. 

In that moment, she thinks she’d follow Misty anywhere. 


	4. somewhere only we know

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you guys are still enjoying this! I've pretty much planned out for the whole story so hoping for pretty regular updates. Let me now what you think!

They walk for what feels like eons, when in reality it can’t be more than fifteen minutes. Cordelia supposes that it stretches so long because she’s navigating unfamiliar terrain, pushing away plants and branches that cross her path while Misty’s own movements are effortless. She moves in a rehearsed manner, seeming to recognise every change in shrubbery, ever rock and pool of water that litters the ground beneath them. 

Cordelia nervously eyes the beige, cloudy water of the bayou not too far away from them. She must falter in her step, as Misty comes to halt beside her with a tilt in her head as a sharp gaze lands on her friend. She then pulls at their ( _still_ ) combined hands, grinning. “The gators are hibernatin’ this time of year. Don’t worry.” 

“I wasn’t -” 

She cuts herself short as chocolate eyes catch the mirth behind Misty’s. “Are we almost there?” she asks, growing weary of walking and grimacing at the drying mud, now crackling in wrinkles along her skin. 

Nodding eagerly, Misty picks up the pace and she’s forced to match it on unsteady feet. 

“Should I be nervous?” 

“Nah.” Even so, Misty grows visibly anxious, a strange energy radiating from her that is contagious enough to have Cordelia’s stomach knotting. And then she’s pushing the wilting leaves of a cypress tree from their path to reveal a clearing. She holds the leaves open like a curtain for Cordelia, urging her through, and pursues after her. 

The older blonde smiles at the sight of a building albeit a small, dilapidated shack that hosts a series of boarded gaps and wonky woodwork. It’s a building nonetheless, with lights that Misty turns on and running water on the faucet outside. They scrub away the dirt with tattered wash cloths and icy water that takes her breath away. 

“What is this place?” 

Misty stills, smiling over in her direction. “I found it a few weeks after we moved here. It was a real mess – holes, weeds, even had a possum family livin’ inside.” She furiously tries to clean the dirt from her fingernails with little success, then turns to Cordelia with a blinding grin. “We shared it for a while, but I’m guessin’ they’ve found somewhere quieter. I have a bad habit of listenin’ to music too loud.” 

The older blonde chuckles at the idea of Misty and said rodents cohabitating, then left her eyes drift up at the building with interest. But it’s the surrounding swamp life that beckons her attention not long after. With the evening drawing in, the crickets and frogs begin a chorus of songs for only their ears. Cordelia sees still waters beside them, aside from the occasional bug darting across its surface and in the distance a bird takes to the sky with a hurried flapping of its wings. Misty peers up then, too, following her gaze as its shadow becomes smaller and small until it’s nothing but a dot on the horizon. “So, you just . . . moved yourself in?” she finishes with a soft, awkward laugh. 

“Yeah,” Misty admits with a shrug. “Seems a real waste for such a fine little house.” 

_House_. 

The older blonde looks to it again, the word echoing around her head and wondering how on earth someone could refer to it as such; the idea leaves more questions than answers, and she regards Misty under the setting sun. Orange light bathes her skin, warming the palette invitingly, and when she smiles, it’s enough to take Cordelia’s breath away. 

She turns, the rays dancing over her pale face, and observes Cordelia slowly, nervously. Cordelia just about catches the way that Misty’s eyes wander lower and lower, as though memorizing every inch of her Cordelia’s body. The scrutiny has her insides tugging and twisting like vines, cutting off any flow to her heart. But then Misty is smiling, and the tension eases. Pleasantly so. The Cajun reaches out a hand again, this time her fingers damp and scrubbed raw of mud. 

They’re cold to Cordelia’s touch, but she wraps her own fingers around regardless. 

She pulls Misty in nearer. “You want a tour?” Misty says, words low and quiet, and altogether enticing. 

Cordelia throws a glance over her shoulder, wondering how much of a tour she could give for just one room. In spite of that, she finds herself biting her lip and nodding. 

Turns out, Misty has a small garden hidden in the back that she shows off the few scattered plants. A shoddy, homemade fence marks the threshold, and the inside is filled with mismatched pots that Cordelia _definitely_ recognizes from the gardening club. Misty tenderly touches each of the plants the way a mother would a child, talking to them chirpily and causing Cordelia to smile so much that her cheeks ache. 

Then she flutters near the tree line, dirtying her hands once more as she climbs expertly a couple of branches up and smiles into a dark hollow. “Oh, she’s started to nest!” She steadies herself on one of the thinner branches, perching like she belongs there, and leans further in. Cordelia watches on with curiosity tinging her mind, laughing and shaking her head as Misty insists she come look for herself. 

“I do not trust my tree climbing abilities.” She shouts up, though almost considers it, especially when Misty pouts. It fizzles in a matter of seconds and then she’s scaling back down the tree, jumping to the empty spot next to Cordelia. Her once clean hands now hosts greens and brown splotches from the bark, but she simply wipes them on her dress. 

“What’s up there?” 

Misty’s eyes brighten. “An owl. She’s been hangin’ around the past couple of weeks.” Her delicate smile causes a bubbling warmth in Cordelia’s heart, one that she tries to forget about with a soft hum and nod. 

“That’s pretty cool.” 

“Yeah, I’m hopin’ if she has babies I can get a look at them.” 

The idea of Misty cooing over small chicks is all too sweet, but the idea is jarred out of her mind as Misty continues to dust herself off and then glances back to the small building. “C’mon, I’ll show ya inside.” 

They begin to walk back to the shack, bodies bumping against one another every few seconds. Misty’s hand is suddenly next to hers again, pinkie nudging Cordelia’s, before it vanishes in the blink of an eye. Cordelia turns to peer up at her, hoping that the withering light helps to hide the red in her ears, and follows her inside. 

Past the creaking door, there’s a small, homely space that welcomes her with open arms. Misty drops herself to a bed that’s pushed up against the window, tugging up her legs to cross them under herself. The colorful lamp besides her plummets her features into different shades of oranges and reds, but Cordelia can make out her inviting smile. Lifting a hand, Misty pats the empty space beside her; Cordelia doesn’t need to be asked twice. 

As she lowers herself down onto the bumpy mattress, she peers around thoughtfully. The silence continues, comfortable at first, but with the clock in the corner counting down the seconds, she feels a pressure building inside of her. It shifts and pushes painfully at her insides as she fights with the need to say something. But what does she say? It’s rare that a conversation between the two doesn’t flow with ease, yet here she is, itching with doubt. 

It’s Misty who is first to break the ice, or more melt it with warmly spoken words. “What do you think?” 

Cordelia blinks, taking her gaze off the series of band posters and floral paintings that hide the holes in the walls to where Misty is staring at her intently. “Of what?” she chuckles, tucking some hair neatly behind her ear. 

There’s a delicate pause, words shy and tentative, but they push through. “Of here.” Misty elaborates. Her fingers fidget with the ties around her wrists, tugging at the material every few moments in jerky twitches. 

“It’s not what I expected,” she says, her grin allowing Misty’s nerves to seep away before her. 

“What did you expect?” 

With a short laugh, she shrugs. “Not _this_.” Cordelia shuffles closer, as though drawn to the warmth pulsing from Misty, and feels her expression soften even further. “You did all this yourself?” she peeks across at her through fluttering eyelashes, lips curving upwards. 

Misty nods, pride swelling into her body as she sits up that little bit straighter. 

“It’s really nice – it's very. . . _you_.” 

“Is that. . .” She licks her lips in thought, “that’s a good thing – right?” 

She grins, endeared at the modesty, and hums. “Yeah, it is.” Cordelia continues to study the room, wanting to learn everything that she can from its carefully chosen décor. “I didn’t realize you liked _Fleetwood Mac_ so much.” 

“Like them?” she bounces in her seat, accent growing thicker in her enthusiasm. “I practically worship the ground they walk on! They are like, the greatest band in existence.” 

Cordelia watches in earnest joy at the way she becomes so animated, eyes so wide and brimming with unabashed excitement. Eyes squint at the many posters surrounding her, a glowing shrine to the band that Cordelia only just about recognizes. Misty follows her line of sight, a sigh of admiration and reverence escaping from her chest. “Their music just. . . just _speaks_ to me, ya know?” 

She doesn’t, and only can shake her head with a barely contained giggle at Misty’s dreamy expression. 

Fear momentarily strikes in the core of Misty‘s features at the appearance of laughter, spreading like wildfire across her face. “Are you laughin’ at me?” 

“ _No_.” Cordelia quickly backpedals. “Misty, I’d never. I – I just think it’s really sweet.” _You’re sweet._ The last thought, ironically, catches in her throat with a bitter taste and hides there alongside her courage. 

Misty blinks, mouth forming into a pretty ‘o’ that Cordelia feels her gaze linger on. She servers the action as she realizes her mistake, turning away while heat searing under her skin. As the conversation lulls, the noise of the swamp begins to crawl inside, offering a background of white noise. The quiet resurgence of life and nature back into the room brings a tentative smile tiptoeing on Misty’s pink, puckered lips. 

She doesn’t offer a reply, but stands and pads over to a boom box in the corner. Pale fingers fiddle with the controls, and soon music joins the swamp’s serenade. Cordelia doesn’t know the song personally, but she’s willing to bet any money that it’s from a certain band. 

Spinning on her heel, Misty sighs, shoulders loosening with vanishing tension. Her eyes close slowly, jaw slackening as lips fall open; Cordelia’s transfixed eyes follow from the pointed jawline down the slender neck on show. When the Cajun finally opens her eyes once more, azure spheres have Cordelia sitting with her heart in her stomach and unable to move. “This is one of my favorites,” she confesses aloud. 

“That’s Stevie Nicks, right?” Cordelia finds her voice, even if it is strained. 

Delighted surprise bustles Misty with further excitement. “She is my idol. She is the most amazin’ person in this whole wide world.” It’s no longer admiration that glimmers in her eyes, but sheer and unconditional love. 

Cordelia only notices she’s smiling by the muscles growing weary in her cheeks. 

“She does this thing. . .” Misty continues, breathlessly despite the winds beginning to seep through the open window. She scrambles for one of the shawls hung over the corner of the floor length mirror, pausing for the briefest of moments to observe herself before turning away with a frown. Thankfully, the action is temporary, as she wraps the delicate material over thin shoulder and finds a position in the centre of the room where floorboards creak under her weight. 

She stalls, locking gazes with Cordelia who can only spectate on in interest. She had been leaning her weight against the headboard, but when she notices the trip in Misty’s demeanor, she is erect once more, unsurely debating whether to close the distance between them. As if able to sense her uncertainty, Misty offers a nervous chuckle. “Sorry.” She shakes her head at herself. “I’m just used to doin’ this alone.” 

The word sends a pitiful pang down her already tight chest, but she forces out a supportive smile. “Just pretend I’m not here.” _Please don’t._

With the shawl shrugged onto her shoulders, a newfound confidence surrounds Misty; it bathes her in a glowing light despite the evening drawing in. Misty locks gazes with Cordelia one more time, not long enough for the older blonde to decipher the glisten in her eyes, before she takes to her stage. In one sweeping movement, she lifts the ends of the shawl out, legs expertly twirling her round and around until Cordelia feels dizzy from watching. The tone muscles of her calves drawn attention, speeding Cordelia’s heartbeat up more than she cares to admit. 

Dark material and yellow hair spin in unison, a dance of contrast where they move as one, like ying and yang. She holds a surprising poise, movements elegant and rehearsed, leading Cordelia to wonder how many times she does this. How many days, nights . . . _alone_. But she’s not alone right now. She is with her, and she doesn’t plan on going anywhere. 

The more she spins, the broader her lips spread until there’s a toothy, unstoppable grin that accompanies laughter. Though Misty eventually stops twirling, the momentum has her moving as though drunk with giddiness and toned legs turn wobbly. She comes to a clumsy stop, then glances instantly over at Cordelia with chest heaving excitedly. “Obviously Stevie does it better than me – but I could watch her do it all day. It’s so magical, right?” 

This time, Cordelia has no hesitation in agreeing with Misty’s words. She almost asks her to carry on twirling in those dancerly motions – a _lmost_. “Yeah.” She swallows the dry lump in her throat. “It’s something.” 

Misty keeps fingers clutched onto the shawl and hovers near her boom box once more. “And she does it all the time. My dream is to see her live in concert one day. Can you imagine?” She practically goes cross eyed, head clearly filling with fantasies of occupying the same space as her idol. “Oh my, how incredible it would be.” 

Cordelia’s feels the warm touch of fondness around her heart. But it grows colder with the thought that this is a world of Misty’s she barely knew about, and that realization hits her like a ton of bricks. She blinks up at her, brows knitted together. “How come you don’t ever talk about these things at school?” 

It’s an innocent enough question at first glance, but there’s a hidden weight behind him. Why hasn’t she told _her_ this before? It’s a selfish, fleeting thought that has Cordelia bowing her head in shame, but she waits on baited breath for the answer. 

The Cajun is turned away from her, faced to the table adorned with dog eared books and gardening tools. She stiffens, but throws a stare over her shoulder. Just from that, Cordelia can sense the shift in emotion, can see the way Misty wrinkles her forehead together. “It ain’t anyone’s business.” 

She isn’t expecting the animosity that comes hand in hand with the reply and, even though it isn’t directed her way, it has her nerves fraying on end. 

Misty’s steps are marked by the floorboards playing like rusty, squeaking piano keys, and she slows in front of the window. Through the lace canopy, Misty looks outwards with the most wistful of sighs. “I learned to stop talkin’ about that sort stuff.” She admits sadly, “people just think you’re weird when you’re not like ‘em.” 

On her feet without thought, Cordelia moves to stand by her side. “You’re not weird.” she comforts, in very the way a friend should. She inwardly reprimands herself for wishing the hand on Misty’s shoulder could be more than friendly, especially in her need of reassurance. 

“You don’t have to – " she begins. 

Insistently, Cordelia purses her lips and narrows eyes in a show of stubbornness. “You’re not! You are . . . you’re unique.” 

Misty gives her the side eyes, smiling wryly. “That’s just another word for weird.” 

“It’s better.” She speaks tenderly, eyes boring up at Misty who scrutinizes her in return with unsure features. “ _Way_ better than being like every other girl at school. So what if you like plants more than cooing over boys? Or that you don’t conform to what they think is cool?” She sees that she’s beginning to gain some success when Misty has the makings of a smirk on her mouth. “And I actually think it’s really cool that you emulate Stevie Nicks in here. No better way to show your respect, right?” Cordelia squeezes her shoulder now, anxiety stabbing at her chest as she still feels her hard muscles underneath despite her efforts. 

But Misty is smiling. Grinning, even. “You do?” 

“Yeah.” She nods, biting her lip delightfully. 

There’s a pregnant pause, where Misty now crinkles her nose like some sort of adorable mouse. “I guess it is awful borin’ to be like everyone else, huh?” 

Cordelia chuckles, fingers drifting from the shoulder to rest on Misty’s forearm. Fingertips trail the sparse and light hairs that line the skin, until Misty is shuddering under her now firm touch. “You’re definitely not boring.” 

“Guess with a name like Misty Day that’s pretty hard.” She jokes, but Cordelia hears the resentment hidden behind her words. 

“I love your name.” She says, barely giving Misty to a second to finish her words. The Cajun may seem initially surprised at the speed of the delivery, though it clearly doesn’t bother her. In fact, she appears to blossom under the sudden attention, like some rare flower that is fit for only Cordelia’s eyes. 

She admires her just as such, even with the flush tainting her skin. “Um,” she continues lamely, “it’s really nice.” 

“Thanks, Delia.” Misty smirks, then everything about her becomes altogether. . . _different_. And she’s whispering, but Cordelia isn’t sure why. “You’re a really good friend.” The small expanse of air between them grows stifling, thick, like when the threat of lightening lingers oh so dangerously and the arms of your hairs stand on end. Cordelia wonders if she’s about to get struck down, because her heart pumps erratically in anticipation. Misty takes hold of her hand (Cordelia winces at the definitely clammy nature of it) and doesn’t let go. Good, because she doesn’t want her to. 

She's sure she must be smiling like some fool, lost in smouldering eyes. 

Somewhere in the back of her mind, she registers the song changing, and it flips Misty like a switch. Her impossibly wide eyes thin, until there’s soft, hooded eyes in their place, and she fills the silence explaining why the band wrote the song. Cordelia can only listen, wishing she could inspiration for her own heartfelt words that lie dormant deep inside. 

With her free, idle hand, she finds herself readjusting the shawl over Misty’s sleeves. She clears her throat. “This looks nice on you.” 

“Ya think?” She pulls away now, spinning and modelling the shawl more for herself than Cordelia. Every so often, her eyes flicker to the mirror. “I always preferred the black one, but I got gator shit on it.” 

Cordelia rolls her eyes and laughs heartily now. “Course you did.” 

She twirls so much that she falls into the bed with an _oof_ , and Cordelia follows as though connected by some invisible tug. “Don’t hurt yourself, Miss Nicks.” She teases. 

“Don’t even joke about that. I couldn’t ever hope to be as good as her.” She says seriously, only managing to endear Cordelia even further. 

“Fine, fine. But please watch where you’re going. If you get hurt, I don’t even remember where my car is to help you.” 

“I don’t plan on that happenin’” She chuckles, then seems to notice the sun waving goodbye over the horizon. 

The older blonde is the first to comment, an air of sadness washing over her. “I can’t believe it’s getting dark already. Surely we only just got here.” Her watch says otherwise, and she chooses to pointedly ignore it. 

Misty is just as discouraged by the dwindling time between them remaining. She grows quiet, contemplative, and her eyes move over the room in disenchantment. “Guess you wanna go back, huh?” 

She almost goes to agree, knowing that the walk with light guiding her way had been nothing short of treacherous for her untrained feet; the girl doesn’t even want to consider doing it in the dark. But she can’t bring herself to answer in the affirmative. She eyes Misty with a half-smile, a hopeful one that has the Cajun frowning in confusion. “It’s not that late.” She starts alongside a shrug. 

“Don’t you have homework?” 

_Yes. Lots._

“Nah.” Cordelia shakes her head in a terrible feat of appearing nonchalant. 

It works, seeing as Misty is beaming toward her, barely able to stand still from growing excitement. “You’ll stay?” she asks, as though no one has ever stayed for her before. 

“Sure.” Misty’s contagious giddiness has her heart singing loudly within the caverns of her chest. “Would be a shame to go so early.” 

There’s a barely audible gasp from Misty’s mouth, but she’s skipping over to the other side of the room and routing through a collection of music. “I’m gonna show you all my favorite songs.” 

“Why do I feel like there are lots of those?” 

She smirks coyly and bites at her lip. “Yeah . . . but you’ll like ‘em, I know it.” 

“And if I don’t?” she teases. 

Misty doesn’t even have to feign shock now. Turning sharply, she has an all too serious glower, nostrils flaring. “Then we can’t be friends.” 

Cordelia feels all the blood drain from not only her face, but every vessel in her body. “What?” 

Thankfully, a grin pushes onto Misty’s lips and the shock fizzles away from the older blonde at the sight of it. “i’m just kiddin’.” The smile shifts into something altogether more devoted. “Don’t think there’s anythin’ you could do to make me not wanna be your friend.” 

She really doesn’t want to find out if that’s true or not. 

As Misty skips ahead to another song, she doesn’t hesitate in grabbing Cordelia’s hand now, tugging her over to the bed where she sprawls herself across it. Just like how she does on the older blonde’s much larger bed. Long, lanky limbs stretch across the floral sheets, almost dominating it, and Cordelia finds herself tucked away in one corner. 

She’s all too content to observe Misty’s calm presence. The music appears to soothe her like a child being rocked to sleep. There’s not a single worry line in her face; every muscle of her body down to her pinkie finger hang in complete and utter tranquillity. At first, her eyes are closed, helping her lose herself in the moment. When Cordelia only continues to linger, debating if she’s an intruder on the bed, a piercing gaze narrows in on her. 

Under its intensity, she grows shyer, fingers tugging at the ends of her hair. 

Misty grins. “You gonna sit there like that all night?” 

“. . .what?” 

She easily holds herself up in a half sit, reaching for Cordelia’s arms and tugging her down beside her in one swift movement. It’s so fast that she doesn’t register it until she’s lay scarily close to her. This isn’t a double bed - It's barely a _single_. And now Misty has twisted in the space, hair fanning out around her in a golden crest while rough fingers loiter around the older blonde’s body. “You can’t listen to Stevie like that.” Her words are more certain than she’s ever heard her, almost authoritative. 

With Misty’s face only inches away from hers, she gulps and trembles. “I can’t?” 

“You gotta relax.” She insists first, not realizing that it’s her very presence that has Cordelia so very much teetering on edge. “Listen to the music. And just . . . feel it.” Misty turns, ever so slightly, as she readjusts arms comfortably under one side. 

“Feel every word, every note.” 

“Okay.” 

“It helps if you close your eyes.” 

There’s a moment of hesitation, but she complies despite the quake in her bones. She is all too aware of the other weight on the mattress, a warmth exuded beside her that is increasingly distracting. Her lips are tightly sewn together, fingers twitching with the want to do anything but sit idly by her side. 

Beside her, Misty sings in a low hum that always manages to put her at ease. If she lets her imagination run away with itself, she could pretend that it’s like a private concert just for her, but she supposes that would be all too wishful. One song turns into another, the lyrics perfectly memorized by her friend whose voice becomes barely a whisper. Even right next to her, Cordelia has to strain to hear them. 

The room stills with the disappearance of Misty’s notes, but she doesn’t open her eyes. And there are other sounds around her, she’s sure. Strangely, Cordelia doesn’t register any of them, like when you’re underwater and the rest of the world is a blur. Her world is currently dark and quiet; the only sense she can think about is the sweet smell of Misty’s perfume wafting her way enticingly. 

Through the murky waters of her brain, Misty speaks. “Do you like this?” 

She squints an eye open as the voice jars her into back into reality. To her surprise, Misty is watching her, chin rested on one hand and a smirk dancing prettily on her lips. How long has she been doing that? As she considers it, Cordelia finds herself struggling to care. She smiles, despite the queasy tugging in her tummy at Misty’s closeness. 

Cordelia then nods. “Yeah. This song is nice.” 

Misty’s face doesn’t fall, but it definitely stumbles, only to have a strained façade of joy pushed onto there. “Right. The _song_.” She repeats. Cordelia frowns at her strange response, and pushes it aside before she can overanalyze. 

Catching sight of the time, she sighs. “It’s getting late.” 

And Misty is nodding too, jumping from the bed in suit with Cordelia. The two move with speed, almost nervously, like much more had happened other than laying listening to music. For a moment, and she isn’t sure why, she can barely bring herself to meet Misty’s eyes. When she does, they’re still warm and welcoming; she instantly feels guilty for her reluctance. 

“C’mon. I’ll get you back in one piece.” Misty’s eyes glisten as they step outside, catching the light of the moon in them. 

The walk is most definitely scarier in the dark, especially when roots seem intent on catching her uncertain feet at every opportunity. At one moment, she stumbles straight into Misty, flailing arms wrapping around her shoulders. “Am I gonna have to piggy back you to the car?” she half jokes, half looks as though she’s rather keen on the idea. 

Cordelia pulls away, face hot and red. “I’ll be fine.” 

Even so, she doesn’t let go of Misty’s equally strong grip, that only increases with her every slip on unstable ground. She finds herself smiling against the dark, almost willing the journey to be longer so she can, without guilt, relish the feel of Misty’s fingers interlaced with hers. Without thinking, she leans in closer, and lets her thumb move over the many bracelets that adorn Misty’s thin wrist. 

At one point, it toys with the thick material she ties around them, one that she can just about make out as a different color to yesterday in the dark. It shifts and loosens under Corderlia’s absent ministrations, and quite honestly, she doesn’t notice she’s even doing it, until the smooth skin under her thumb becomes raised, thin, raised scabs littering the area. It reminds her of grazes she’d have as a kid in the rare moments that she’d more daringly play outside and would usually end up with some sort of wound. 

And she wouldn’t think anything of it, if Misty didn’t tense up, refusing to even look in her direction. She detaches her grasp from Cordelia’s with little hesitation, but continues to walk. “Look,” she comments at the sight of headlights in the distance. “We’re almost there.” 

That is the least of Cordelia’s concerns as she pursues Misty with a deep setting frown, navigating the terrain as best she can. They’re not touching any more. Despite this, the ghost of the cuts hover over her thumb as though imprinted in them forever. She feels a prickly dryness against her throat, even the roof of her mouth as she ponders the possibilities. “How did you do that?” she eventually says. 

Misty quickens her pace. “Do what?” 

It isn’t her voice. It belongs to a stranger – cold and indifferent. 

Cordelia slows, if only to reel at the reaction, then continues to follow with unbridled speed even as Misty nears the car. When their eyes meet, hers narrow up at Misty. “Your arm.” 

No further explanation is needed, because surely Misty knows that’s there. But she pauses as if she doesn’t, the peers down to the bandana bracelet covering the small marks. “Oh? That.” She speaks, unconcerned. “Did it climbin’ a tree the other day. It’s nothin’.” 

Misty is smiling now, looking between Cordelia and the car expectantly. 

She isn’t so keen to accept the answer, yet Cordelia only finds herself being able to stare in question. The idea of probing further makes her uncomfortable, so much that her skin itches with uncertainty. 

“Honestly,” Misty continues, a hand reaching up to settle on her shoulder in a grounding squeeze. “Don’t worry.” 

But she _does_. 

Even as they get into the car once more and they complete the drive to Misty’s house on the now unlit road. Misty continues to smile and laugh without a care in the world – either she’s an amazing actress or Cordelia is completely overreacting. She prays that she is. Even as Misty talks about their shared science project, she can only nod and hum in the appropriate places. 

The conversation only lulls as they pull up outside the long drive, crickets welcoming them noisily. In the distance, Cordelia can hear the low call of some bovine creature. Misty glances across at her now, fingers on the door handle, but making no move to open it. 

“Are you okay?” she asks unsurely. 

She drops her hands from where they clutch the steering wheel. “Yeah, of course I am.” Cordelia lets out a sigh like she’s been holding her breath for the past ten minutes, and the inhale afterwards feels as though breathing for the first time. “I had a really good night, Misty. Thank you.” 

Her friend beams, face so happy that Cordeia feels her heart ache in appreciation. 

“Well, you’re welcome anytime, ya know. Was nice sharin’ the cabin with someone else. Especially you.” 

This time, a genuine smile does find its way to her lips. “That’d be nice.” 

Misty eventually opens the door, pausing to grin at her. “Well, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.” Lips twist into a smirk. “Don’t stay up too late doin’ your homework.” 

And she _knows_ that Cordelia abandoned work to stay with her, leading to older blonde to smile sheepishly at getting caught out. She chuckles in a gentle manner, then ducks her head. “Can’t make any promises.” 

There’s a tangible thickness to the air, _again_ , but neither comment on it. In fact, Misty takes this as her moment to leave, taking the usual route to the house in the distance and, as always, Cordelia sits and waits for a sign that she’s gone inside. Even when she’s sure of though, she doesn’t set off straight away, her mind too swamped with the events of the evening to even consider driving. 

She thinks of the way Misty had been so close to her, how enchantingly she’d danced around the room, and how Cordelia definitely thinks that her crush is not going to go away any time soon. 


	5. see me like breath in the cold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you guys are still enjoying this :) I apologise in advance for all the pining you're gonna have to put up with.

Madison’s party is not as fun as she’d made it out to be. 

Maybe it’s the fact that everyone is incoherently drunk, or that the leering looks of guys actually repulse her, but she’s not really enjoying herself. She holds onto her drink for dear life, contemplating perhaps calling it a night as the crowd blends into nothing more than blank faces. In her drunken stupor, it’s hard to pinpoint each individual one. 

When she does spy a familiar friend, she’s relieved to see it is Zoe; the brunette’s thoughtful eyes around the room, glancing between a group of girls swooping around a crying friend and some college kids experiencing what appears to be an intense game of beer pong. Sucking in a breath to steady her hazy head, Cordelia slowly walks over to her. “Everyone left you too, huh?” she asks wryly. 

Zoe momentarily jumps at the sound of her voice so near, then eases into a smile. “Madison abandoned me the second a guy made eyes at her. Go figure.” She shakes her head in irritation, then takes another forceful sip of her drink – some fruity smelling thing that Cordelia has been avoiding all night. “I thought you were with Queenie?” 

“I was “cramping her style” apparently.” 

The brunette rolls her eyes, but smirks nonetheless. 

“I’m guessing you were living up to your mom friend calling?” Despite being perturbed, she feels herself grow more eased under Zoe’s light laughter. 

“I can’t help it.” She confesses with her own grin. _I just care too much._ With that thought cast away and a distracting swig of the own bitter liquid in her cup, she squints around the crowded room. “Where did everyone else go?” 

“Nan is somewhere around here with Luke. And Mallory – she went off Coco.” 

“Oh.” 

There’s another smirk, impish, alongside an arch of her eyebrow. Zoe responds in equal, leaning herself gently against the door frame where she’s stood. “I know. Didn’t see that one coming. But then again, I thought you would have bailed by now.” 

She wonders if she’s supposed to be offended at that. It’s barely one am, and she’s not _that_ much of an old soul that she would have retired already, but a part of her seems surprised at herself, too. The party isn’t exactly her kind of scene, not really. Too many drunk guys with wandering hands and childish drama that she can’t abide by. At least there _are_ people though. Anything seems better than the idea of sitting home alone on a Saturday night watching _Friends_ reruns. 

Blinking at Zoe, she resigns herself to an empty laugh. “Am I that predictable?” 

“No,” she says, “you just don’t look like you’re enjoying yourself.” 

Cordelia shrugs then, “it’s okay, I guess.” 

“Would it be better if a certain someone was here?” 

The question has her stilling in place like a deer in headlights, mouth agape and brain scrambling to make sense of the words as though they are spoken in some sort of alien language. Zoe is hiding a grin, her inebriation seeming to give her a bolder approach than normal, seeing as she continues in wake of Cordelia’s ongoing lack of a response. “What’s going on with you two anyway?” 

She sucks in a sharp, painful breath now against a constricted throat, letting it shudder out with her response. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Cordelia lies – really, _really_ badly. 

There’s a hardening of her gaze, more in scrutiny than annoyance, like she’s trying to figure Cordelia out. Zoe leans in nearer now, clearly sensing the way Cordelia’s heart is rattling inside its bone cage right now. “You and Misty . . .?” 

With a wince, she bristles defensively, though tries to maintain her cool and collected character that is decidedly not at all cool _or_ collected. The lump in her throat swallowed, Cordelia chuckles. “You’ve been spending too much time with Madison.” 

“Oh, come on, Cordelia. I’ve got eyes, you know.” 

Something close to dread settles on her stomach, nestling in and making home inside of her. “Zoe.” She says, smiling although there is little happiness in her response. “There is nothing going on, I assure you.” 

Zoe doesn’t answer straight away, exacerbating the anxiety clawing at Cordelia’s heart, and regards her with a musing glance. Despite the intense background noise around them, Cordelia can barely hear a thing. 

She does, however, hear the next question that Zoe asks, just as jarring as the first. “Do you want there to be?” 

_More than_ _anything_ _in the world._

“I -” Cordelia clamps her lips closed before anything incriminating can flow out of them, but that seems to be enough of an answer for Zoe. Perceptive as ever, she only smirks. The blonde does her best to calm the nervous tremor that usurps all other functions in her body. 

Then there’s a friendly hand on her shoulder, one that squeezes and lingers. “Your secret is safe with me.” 

“Zoe, I don’t -” 

“Madison was right.” She cuts across Cordelia’s useless countering. “You do look at Misty differently than everyone else.” 

Realizing that denial is a fruitless expedition, she merely heaves with a sigh. “I do wish she was here.” She confesses, barely a murmur against the noise of the party. It’s not meant for Zoe’s ears, not really; she just happens to be a spectator to Cordelia’s admittance. For once out loud and not in her own head, as if she’s getting that little bit braver. Maybe one day she’ll muster enough courage to utter those words in front of the one person she really wants to. 

But Zoe is smiling at her now, the action tarnished with sympathy – maybe pity – and nods. “Maybe she can come next time.” 

Cordelia hums doubtfully, perhaps to snub any waxing hope. “Yeah.” 

Their serious conversation comes to an end as two drunken idiots try dangling from the chandelier with as much success as one would expect. Even with the burn of alcohol in her veins, she finds her enthusiasm dimming after that and soon after makes the decision to go home. 

What is usually a short cab ride seems to take hours, her mind spinning like a carousel that she can’t get off. Misty refuses to leave her mind, even for a second, and when she does eventually settle into her bed that night, head clouded by more than the alcohol, she reaches for her phone. It’s easy to find Misty in her contacts, eyes staring at her number. 

She hesitates, eyeing the time in the corner of her screen, but a part of her really doesn’t care. The urge is strong, undeniable and Cordelia easily succumbs to it. With as much care as she can in her inebriation, she types a quick message. _Hey, you awake?_

Ignoring the twist in her stomach, she throws up head back against the pillows and allows herself to reflect on the night, on Zoe’s words. They hang above her head with no signs of giving up. Are her feelings for Misty so transparent? Would it be less noticeable if she wore a sign around her neck saying ‘I like Misty Day’? Her face pinches with a frown, eyes glancing to her blank phone screen that shows no sign of a reply. 

A groan resonates deep within up, crawling up her tight throat and out of her lips until it echoes around the room. She feels stifled in what should be her sanctuary, where walls close in and air grows cold inside her lungs. 

Cordelia jumps to her feet and is leaving the room before she can even register it, migrating to the kitchen where a glass of cold water helps to clear her head. As she begins to ascent back up the stairs, she eyes the dark corners of the large house where shadows creep in an unsettling way. In the end, she supposes her room is the best place to be and returns with her glass and chips in the other hand. 

Both are immediately forgotten about as she spies the notification. Her heart seizes in excitement, fingers so hurriedly moving to put in her passcode that she gets it wrong the first couple of times. Her smile widens upon seeing Misty’s response. 

_Sure am. Isn’t it a little late for you?_ _😉_

Her heart warming and fluttering, she bites her lower lip to keep the smile in place. 

She pauses in thought for a moment, and decisively bites the bullet. _Can I call you?_ The idea is a fleeting one, but she’s already sent the text before she has a moment to really think about it, and Misty quickly agrees. In fact, it’s her caller ID that shows up not seconds later. 

Cordelia answers with a grin. “Hi.” Her words are slightly slurred, tired, but filled with sweet fondness. 

Misty, on the other hand, brims with worry. “What’s wrong, Delia? Did somethin’ happen?” 

All she wants to do is sweep Misty is in her arms and take away every gram of fret from her body. Unfortunately, her only option is to talk it out of her. “Nothing happened,” she says, voice adopting an airy quality. 

Her friend pauses, the line falling quiet, though Cordelia thinks she can hear the distant sound of a baby wailing somewhere in the background. Soon, Misty’s sweet, probing cadence returns. “Are you drunk?” 

“ _No_.” Cordelia laughs, “well, maybe a little.” 

She hears Misty joining in, low and gravelly, like she was just woken up from sleep. For a moment, she wonders if her text brought her out of slumber. “So, you’re drunk diallin’ me right now?” She teases. 

Eyes grow in shock, grin wobbling on her lips. Misty’s playful taunting moves right to her core; she can hear the smirk in her voice, envision the way her brow points neatly upwards and her insides just about turn to jelly. “I just . . .” She pauses, biting on her tongue before anything slips from her lips. Her own quiet is deafening. Does Misty hear the strain in her voice? “I -” 

There’s an exhalation from Misty, impossibly long, before she replies. “I’m glad you called.” 

Time stops moving around her and she smiles against the phone. She gulps. “You are?” 

“Oh yeah, was sat here thinkin’ what you could possibly be getting' up to at Madison’s party.” Misty replies, words thick with playfulness. “Seein’ as you’re such a party animal.” 

Cordelia snorts, a hand moving to cover her face and hide further laughter. “Why do you all think I’m so boring?” 

“I don’t think you’re borin’.” 

“Hmm?” 

She lets her eyes close then, her drunken stupor beginning to take hold. Tiredness wears at her body, but she fights it with a soft smile pressed to her mouth as Misty speaks. “Did you at least have fun?” 

“It was okay.” 

“Just okay?” 

“It would have been more fun with you there.” 

Misty laughs loudly. “Oh, you know I’d love to see you drunk. Even if it meant having to go to Madison’s party.” 

“Then come next time.” She whines. “Promise me.” 

“Delia -” 

“ _Promise_.” 

Neediness doesn’t just creep into her demand, instead it envelopes every syllable in it until Misty clearly takes pity on her and whispers out. “Okay. I promise.” 

Cordelia grins once more and sighs out her happiness at that. The surrounding room no longer suffocates or intrudes; she settles into the soft sheets with legs stretching out at a leisurely pace. Still, despite her newfound content, something doesn’t sit quiet right with her. 

_I wish you were here now._ She thinks, and then in her vulnerable state she’s suddenly saying those words. If Misty hears the heartache within them, she doesn’t ask any further, though there is a long pause. One that has Cordelia’s nerves fraying on end, eyes flying open once more and brimming with dread. 

“You do, huh?” She giggles, all light and pretty and enough to make Cordelia’s stomach swim with butterflies. 

Too far in to backpedal, she bites her lip “Yeah.” 

She’d do anything to be able to see Misty’s face right now, to decipher exactly what emotions it’s currently holding. Because all she can hear is her steadied voice. “You really are drunk, aren’t ya?” 

“Not really.” 

“Oh.” 

She might not be that drunk, but she’s drunk enough for more words to slip out unfiltered. “I miss you.” 

She laughs again and Cordelia finds herself chuckling along in spite of the way sleep pulls at her mind. 

“I was with you last night.” 

“Still miss you.” She insists, then daringly asks. “Don’t you miss me?” 

“You’re my best friend . . . of course I do.” 

Those words should be enough to satiate her yet she finds them increasing her greediness, exacerbating the want in her heart. “We should do something tomorrow.” 

“I have chur – " 

“Afterwards.” She insists. “I’ll come pick you up.” 

Misty sighs then, but not in the way of Cordelia’s demand being a chore. More a wistful exhale that fills the space between Cordelia’s ears with a gentle hum. There is no fight in her friend when it comes to her request and she soon finds her words. “Okay. I’ll text you when we’re done.” 

Cordelia’s face splits into a beam. Her once tired limbs become overcome with energy, any hint of tiredness flying out of the window. Unfortunately, she is the only one awash with the sudden buzz, for Misty is yawning deeply on the other end of the phone. “You should go to sleep.” She returns to her motherly nature like the flick of a switch. 

“Hm, you too. Sleep off all that liquor.” 

She snorts out a laugh. “Goodnight Misty.” 

A pause, then a sweet. “Night. Sweet dreams.” 

Cordelia stares at her phone for longer than she should after Misty hangs up, a dumbly delighted smile refusing to budge from her lips. 

… 

She waits the next day at the end of the dirt track drive with music playing quietly in the background. Nerves prickle at the back of her neck, but she pointedly ignores them by scrolling through her phone and thinking of anything but their conservation last night. Cordelia supposes there’s a little embarrassment lingering inside of her, for things she wonders if she’d say with the lack of alcohol. 

Any worries about it are cast out when she peers Misty from the corner of her eye, appearing in the doorway. There’s someone stood next to her, a burly man with a good half a foot on Misty and the same dirty blond hair. One of her brothers? She makes a note to ask until she focuses on the way Misty’s brows furrow in annoyance and she shakes her head vehemently. 

He throws his hands up then, towering over her for all of a few seconds. Cordelia fights the urge to go and put herself between them, despite knowing he’s at least a foot taller than her and double her width. 

But Misty spins on her heel, putting distance between her and the man who clearly calls after her, to no avail. Walking with hunched shoulders, Misty only quickens her pace. A smile springs onto her lips when she spies her, all but setting into a run and climbing into the car. “Hey.” She drawls, catching her breath. There’s a long pause as she observes Cordelia. ”How you feelin’?” Her eyes crinkle with mirth, only for Cordelia to realize she isn’t wearing her usual deep black eye liner. 

She rakes her eyes down then, taking in the long cream dress that she wears, with flowers stitched neatly to the bodice. Unlike many of her other clothes, there aren’t any mud stains or tears, and it actually seems to fit her slim figure rather than hang loosely. Even her wild hair appears to have been tamed. Cordelia can’t help thinking how beautiful she looks. “I’m fine.” She grows sheepish. “Sorry about waking you up.” 

“Oh, don’t worry. Buddy had the whole house awake anyway.” Misty caves off the concern. Dark bags under her eyes confirm her story, while lines crease on her forehead, especially as Cordelia’s gaze moves past her friend to where the man still stands in the doorway with nothing short of a brooding glower. 

A look thrown over her shoulder, she grumbles. “Ignore Tommy. He’s just pissed ‘cause I won’t lie to Daddy for him.” 

“Lie?” she inquires. 

“He keeps sneakin’ off during church to go see some girl. Who’s _married_.” The last words are spoken emphatically, eyes widening in a way that has Cordelia grinning. She moves her gaze away from him and then sets on putting the car in motion. 

She takes a moment to gather her thoughts. “Sounds like a real drama.” 

“I don’t wanna be involved.” Misty confesses, all too quiet. 

“Then don’t get involved.” 

She tsks then, eyeing her with nothing short of an intense gaze. “It ain’t that easy. My family is way too involved in each other’s lives.” 

Cordelia nods like she understands but, in all honesty, there is not an ounce of comprehension there. She doesn’t have any siblings, cousins, or extended family. Just her and Fiona, and they are definitely out of synch with each other’s business. But Misty continues her rant with an expanding frown and slumping shoulders. 

When she sees the vacant expression beginning to meet Cordelia’s eyes, she sighs. “Sorry. I don’t mean to bore ya.” 

All to quickly to backtrack, she shakes her head. “No, you’re not. I just wish I could relate. I have the curse of being an only child.” 

“You mean the gift.” She corrects. “What I’d give to be an only child.” 

A smirk tugs on at corner of her lips at the way her words are said in exasperation and dramatics. “Surely you’d miss them?” 

Her expression says otherwise, annoyance spreading like wildfire. Cordelia laughs gently, eyes squinting against the low winter sun as she drives. The journey isn’t long – Misty must recognize where they’re going seeing as she doesn’t ask and eventually, she stares at of the window thoughtfully while Cordelia peeks glances at her. 

When they park up, at the same overlook they’d gone to the night they’d egged Hank’s car, Misty jumps out with a burst of energy. She beams as she spies the items in the backseat of the car. “You brought food?” 

“Thought you’d be hungry.” Cordelia’s cheeks tinge the slightest of pinks, though Misty isn’t looking her way. 

Her friend takes a moment to observe the view, just as beautiful in the daytime, with the mixture of sun and clouds overlooking the town. She closes her eyes, breathing in the air that always seems clearer up here. Wind collects around them, sending Misty’s tidy hair into a flurry that she fails in patting down. 

Cordelia grabs her makeshift picnic and follows Misty to the dry spot she finds on the ground. Blankets are lay neatly before she even contemplates sitting down, leaving Cordelia to grin and set confused eyes on her. “Since when do you care about mud?” She asks gently. 

“This is my church dress.” She flattens it neatly underneath her. 

She nods, offering her the selection of sandwiches. “Why didn’t you change?” 

Misty stills, not quite a deer caught in the headlights, but still the hint of panic washing over her features like a gentle wave. Clouds hide the sun rays from her features, highlighting the shadows under her sleepy eyes. She tucks some hair behind her ear. “I like this dress.” She says simply, timidness catching at the edge. “I think it’s pretty.” 

Cordelia grins, taking a bite of her own food. “You do look pretty in it.” 

The panic returns with a vengeance on the Cajun’s face, and Cordelia covers its track so keenly that she almost chokes on her mouthful of food. “So, how many siblings do you have?” she thinks back to her questions a couple of weeks ago. “I don’t think you’ve ever said.” 

Blinking, she toys with the hem of the plaid blanket. “Uh, I got two sisters and four brothers.” 

“Jesus.” She breathes. “No wonder you want a break.” 

A stark laugh bubbles over, then she shrugs. “Yeah, they’re a lot.” 

“You’re the youngest, right?” 

She nods then, eyes wide and face innocent, definitely making her look the part of baby of the family. 

“You know,” she teases, leaning in with a strawberry poised in front of her lips. Misty watches this with glossy eyes and lips parted until Cordelia’s words bring her eyes back north again, “I hear that the youngest always get away with everything.” 

Misty perks a brow. “Oh yeah, where’d you hear that?” 

“Common knowledge.” 

“Wish it were true. Only reason I get away with stuff is ‘cause there’s too many of us to keep track of.” She gives a wry smile. “Especially since Hunter and Buddy came along.” When Cordelia’s brow knits together in thought, she supplies further explanation. “Hunter is Chris’ kid, then Nell had Buddy last year.” 

She nods, storing that information away for future reference. 

Misty continues with a faltering smile. ”’Course Jackson’s wife is expectin’ too.” She rolls her eyes. “ _Twins._ ” 

“Okay, I’m gonna need you to write all this down so I can keep up.” 

She receives a playful shove from Misty, enjoying the feel of her fingers on her upper arm. For the briefest of moment’s, Cordelia shifts her gaze downward to where her arms are covered over with the sleeve of the dress. They hone in, as though trying to physically see through the material, to where Misty claims she’d hurt herself climbing a tree. The second Misty notices this, she tugs sharply away as she clears her throat and then wraps her arms around herself. “It’s not that hard to remember.” She says, anything to take the attention away. 

Cordelia almost asks again, but buries the question deep inside of her alongside the feeling of sudden nausea. 

She puts a strained smile onto her expression, shuffling closer to Misty before she looks out at the view. It’s not much, their little town. Nothing more than a High school and a few political scandals, but she guesses it’s home. That being said, she can’t wait until the day she gets to fly the nest toward college. 

The very idea brings a melancholy ache to her chest, however, when her eyes find their way back to Misty and she frets over the idea that going might mean leaving her behind. In spite of the bitter sting against her ribs, she doesn’t let it spread to her friend. 

Misty, for the most part, seems at ease. She thoughtfully picks out every bite of food, which Cordelia finds herself watching as though it’s the most interesting thing in the world. Through thick eyelashes, Misty locks their eyes and grins “You look tired.” 

_She feels it._ She counters with a nudge of their shoulders. “Speak for yourself.” 

“Well, _someone_ wanted to talk to me at two am this mornin’” Cordelia notes how Misty doesn’t shy away from her loitering presence, only leans closer. When she turns, their faces are inches apart. She suddenly feels lightheaded, as though they’re say on the top of Everest rather than a lookout. 

“You didn’t have to reply.” 

Her brow quirks, the corners of her lips twitching. “What if Madison had done somethin' bad to you?” 

“Like what?” she gets out through giggles. 

“Oh, I dunno. Set you up with some pervy college guys.” 

“That was a distinct possibility.” She catches the way Misty is staring at her, waiting for a missing piece of information. “What?” 

She hesitates, hiding the slight tenseness behind a wary smile. “Did anythin’ happen?” 

“What?” 

“With a boy.” 

“Oh god, Misty. You’re acting like we’re in the fourth grade!” She says in incredulity, only for it to spread when Misty bows her head and averts her eyes. Cordelia grows calmer then, sucking in a sharp breath. “Nothing happened, with anyone.” She gives a self-deprecating grin. “Should I be worried that nobody tried to make a move?” 

Misty jerks up at that, eyes stilling from where they glisten with some mystery emotion. “At one of Madison’s parties? I don’t think so.” 

“Hm, you’re right. Not exactly like I’d entertain the idea of hooking up with any of them.” 

She doesn’t answer right away, her face pinching together with thought in a way that Cordelia’s finds mesmerizingly adorable. “So, the person you liked wasn’t there?” 

And this is the moment Cordelia freezes with fear, air trapped in her throat. The ice of the emotion spreads through her veins until it grips around all the organs in her chest with a tight squeeze. “ _What_?” She chokes out. 

“After you broke up with Hank . . .” She frowns. “You said that you started having feelings for someone else.” 

Oh. _That_ conversation. She feels it burned into the forefront of her mind, draining her from within. She holds in a sigh, but it soon grows stale in her lungs and cries to be released. As it forces itself out, it accompanies a shuddery, “yeah.” 

Misty observes her curiously. Her eyes seem wider, pupils dilated. “Do you still like them?” 

Cordelia gulps thickly against her constricting throat and offers nothing more than a half shrug. She doesn’t want to lie to Misty, but she fears the repercussions of telling her the truth. Not just for her, but more so for Misty. And more worryingly, she dares not think what it could do their friendship because she knows that Misty can’t return those feelings. 

At her strange demeanor, Misty reels back slightly. “Did I say somethin’ wrong?” 

“No.” She reaches up, needing some tactile comfort before she combusts amidst her sudden anxiety. Hands find Misty’s arm and refuse to leave. “I just don’t think it’s going to work out.” 

She doesn’t know how she expects Misty to react, but she certainly hadn’t considered that the blonde would look almost _relieved_ at that confession. Ever the doting friend, though, she places her hand on Cordelia’s. “I’m sorry, Delia.” She comforts. 

“Don’t be. It was a long shot, anyway.” 

This seems to confuse Misty more, who appears to become lost somewhere deep within the cavern of her thoughts, leaving Cordelia to her own company. She picks at the food, then lifts her knees so they’re against her chest and watches the world around them. In the town, everything seems so much faster, people rushing this way and that. Honking horns and revving engines can be heard even at their distant stoop; even closer to her she can hear bird song and rustling wind. 

She turns to Misty again, her pale face too staring out ahead of her with an expression more of despondence than Cordelia’s admiration. Lips pursing together, she wishes she could climb into her head and find out what’s bothering her. 

With a flutter of eyelashes, Misty’s eyes become focused once more and she regards Cordelia like one would a pretty bouquet of flowers. “This is nice.” 

Cordelia hums her agreement. 

“I don’t want to go home.” She says quietly, voice filled with a sadness that Cordelia doesn’t understand. What she does know is that it breaks her heart to see. 

“We can stay here as long as you want.” 

Misty toys with the blanket again, smacking her lips together in thought. “It’s gonna get cold.” 

She waves off any worries. “We can sit in the car. Or go back to mine.” 

A smile fights its way onto the Cajun’s face. “That sounds good.” 

Cordelia counters it with her own grin. “You can tell me more about your family. Feel I need to study all these names.” 

A blush climbs from Misty’s ears to her delicate cheekbones. “You don’t need to know all their names . . .” 

“What if I meet them one day though?” She says, bordering on optimism. One day she’s going to get that invite to Misty’s house, no matter how patient she has to be. 

But Misty is just watching her and smiling with her own disbelief, before she helps to tidy up their leftover food. Most of it is snacked on by her friend on the drive back to hers, although she does send Cordelia into a fit of giggles as she haphazardly tries to hand feed her grapes while she’s driving. 

Her house brings with it an afternoon of planting seeds followed by scrolling through her Netflix. Still feeling the effects of the alcohol, Cordelia finds herself in somewhat of a haze. Conversation is lazy, but comfortable; she soon notices Misty’s own eyes drooping. Their gazes meet from where they’re lay on sofa, her giving a silent okay for Misty to succumb to her tiredness. She does not long after that. 

Cordelia follows, not before staring at her friend like some lovesick fool. 


End file.
